


Tricked

by AyashiTetsuko132



Series: AyashiTetsuko132's Muggle AU Series -- Tom Riddle [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, GinTonic, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-10-24 19:25:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 56,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyashiTetsuko132/pseuds/AyashiTetsuko132
Summary: Do not talk to strangers. Little Ginny Weasley learned the hardest possible way. [AU, GinTonic, crime]





	1. In The End

**Author's Note:**

> First published on FF.net in 2012 by AyashiTetsuko (a.k.a myself). Completed then republished here (with minor edits) just today.

**The End**

The steel door opened with a heavy clang, and Ginny Weasley flinched at the sight of the plain-looking room and its inhabitant.

There were three beds with grey bed sheets and one pillow on each. At the end of the bed were thin blankets, folded neatly -only God knows how such flimsy fabric would be able to withstand the temperature of the room. Beside each beds were wooden table and cupboard, painted with sickening, greyish colour. The walls were white as a snowy day, but look closer and you will find pencil writings scrawled all over it. None of them sounds happy.

The room was actually really clean, almost sterile. But something about the cleanliness made Ginny feels sick, instead of feeling comfortable or at ease.

Perhaps it was because of the two girls in the room.

The first one was sitting by the window-sill. She had one of her legs up, while the other hang loosely to the floor. Her hair was dirty blonde and was dreadlocked, and her sunken cheeks complemented well with her dark blue eyes. Ginny did not like the way those eyes bore into her, as if she was able to see her intestines by simply looking at her. The dark circles under her eyes were not helping neither.

The other girl was sitting on the bed. She had a book opened on her lap, which looked like some kind of a diary. Ginny felt that she was easier to look at than her friend over there, but still there were no signs of warmth or friendliness in her impassive stare. She was a brunette and her eyes were the colour of matching brown, and Ginny believed that in another world she would be a very pretty girl. But beauty does not shine in a place like this, and her pregnant belly distracted the eyes from it. It just felt wrong to see something bulging on the stomach of a teenage girl.

"Well, here's your room. And there're your roommates," said the officer, twirling the set of keys hanging on her belt. "Dinner at seven. Don't be late."

Ginny nodded. "Yes, ma'am," she muttered, clutching her bag even tighter.

The officer left and shut the door with a bang.

There was silence as the blonde girl seemed to be observing Ginny.

Ginny forced a smile, which only managed to move one side of her lips, creating an awkward smirk. Then she started to move towards the bed at the far end of the room. The bed where the pregnant girl sat on was obviously taken, and there were stuff on the small table in the middle of the room. The bed sheet also crinkled a bit, so she assumed it belonged to the blonde girl.

She put her small bag on the table in the farthest part of the room. She opened it and began to take out her belongings: Her clothes (basic stuff like jeans, T-shirt, and a hooded jumper), her toiletries (soap, deodorant, toothbrush), and three books (a small Bible given by her aunt, an unused notebook, and something by her favourite teen writer which never fails to lift up her spirit). One does not take too many things when they are going to stay at a juvenile detention.

She was just going to open her cupboard when a hand suddenly hit the front of her cupboard ( _BANG!_ ).

She squealed, and when she turned her head around, there was the blonde girl.

Standing right at her back, her height intimidated her. Her left hand, which was still on the cupboard, became some sort of a blockade for Ginny to move anywhere. They were so close that Ginny was able to see the freckles on her face.

"Y-yes...?"

"Who the fuck told you to do that?"

Ginny started to shake. She gulped. "P-pardon?"

She just could not see which part of her action had offended the blonde, but from the way she rolled her eyes before staring back at her with a roaring fire, it seemed like she had upset her. A lot.

"You didn't ask for permissions. You just walked in and put your stupid things there," she said. "Can't you see that there are people here before you?"

"Um... Yes?"

"You've eyes, don't you! Or are you blind!"

"I do ..."

"So why so hard for you to see us and talk to us first before putting ...," she started hitting the surface of the cupboard, "Your stupid clothes ...", she continued hitting, "In this stupid cupboard!

Ginny closed her eyes as if she was able to block her voice by doing so, as her hands were too full to cover her ears. "I'm sorry ..."

"You'd better be!" the blonde said, banging the cupboard once more. She turned around to get back to the window-sill, where she reached her pocket to find a box of cigarette to lit up, before sitting with one leg up again.

Still shaking with fear, Ginny managed to steal a glimpse to the direction of the pregnant girl, as if looking for a help. Or at least a sympathy.

She found none of them; the girl just continue to stare at her with her cold stare.

She put her folded clothes back into her bag. Guess it is just not the right time to place it in the cupboard. She was going to apologise to the blonde, but first she felt the need to calm herself. So she sat on her bed.

Then she earned another scold from the blonde. "Who told you to sit!"

Ginny jumped from the bed. She turned to face the blonde girl, who was staring at her with rage in her eyes. However, this time she decided that she was not going to take it just like that. "I-I was just sitting!"

"So you dare to question me?"

The blonde girl started get up and walked towards her direction.

Ginny found herself making a strange, strangled noise. She had managed to cross this girl twice in less than half an hour, and she knew that she would not get away with it this time.

Panicking, she moved her hands around as if she was trying to find something to say. Her eyesight wandered, desperately looking for a way out of the situation.

That was when she found out how the pregnant girl remained indifferent to her situation, staring unblinkingly at the pages of her diary.

Help is not coming. She was all by herself.

When the blonde girl pushed her to wall, Ginny Weasley did not scream.

She just closed her eyes and silently cursed that fateful night when everything started.

 

 


	2. That Fateful Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone left a review on Ginny's writings.

**That Fateful Night**

Mrs. Weasley opened up the glass door of Aunt Molly's Fish-and-Chips, and took a good look around the neighbourhood.

Her fish-and-chips shop was located in a street where the quaint little shops of Camden were, with a book store across her shop, a fruit shop on the right side, and a small bank on the left. There were some people on the street, walking home from work or simply enjoying the afternoon. A dog was attempting to pee at a postbox near her shop; she shoo-ed it just right on time.

Mrs.Weasley realised that the trees are losing their leaves already; a clear sign that winter is near. She put a small blackboard on the pedestrian walk ("Hungry? Turn left, please!" with a huge finger pointing at her shop, completed with a smiling caricature of herself on top, which was the logo of her shop). It was almost five in the afternoon and her tea break was over, so it was time for her business to start operating again.

A policeman passed by and greeted her with a warm "Good afternoon, Mrs. Weasley! Fancy weather, isn't it?". She replied with a hearty laugh and an offer for the policemen to have dinner at her shop tonight, which he did not reject.

She then returned to the warmth of her shop and was about to close the door when it was suddenly being pulled with force. "OUCH! What... GINNY WHAT ARE YOU DOING!"

Her youngest daughter pulled the shop's door with all her might. She then ran across the room, hit a few plastic chairs along the way, and jumped straight to the back of the cashier table, before disappearing behind a cowboy's door.

Mrs. Weasley heard nothing else but her daughter's angry stomps on the stairs. Sighing, she then yelled, "Whatever that means, I'm expecting to see you in the next twenty minutes. Customers are coming soon and I'm cooking!"

[ _break_ ]

In your life, there would be at least one day when nothing seems to be in the right place.

Today was that sort of day for our Ginevra Weasley. Not only that she woke up about an hour late (much to her mother's resentment, of course), she also forgot to take her breakfast and had to miss the school bus.

As if that was not hard enough, math was the first subject for the day, and she had to withstand Mrs. McGonagall's speech on why tardiness is bad for her future throughout the morning.

Lunch break came and once again Ginny had to land herself in the island of misery when she accidentally bumped into Harry Potter in the school's canteen. He was definitely no stranger in Ginny's thirteen years of existence. Harry had been her brother Ron's best friend since primary school, and they had spent almost every summer together –going camping, watching the local football team in action, or even just spending nights full of laughter in a tent made of blankets in Ron's bedroom. Of course Harry was a familiar face to the Weasleys' fish-and-chips shop, where he always managed to return home with boxes of take-away, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley.

Yes, Ginny would be lying to say that he –with his brilliant green eyes and hearty laughs and his status as the captain of the football team- did not capture her attention. By attention I meant he was more than just a brother's best friend for her. You know. Yeah, she has a crush on him. That sort of thing.

This explained why Ginny was so enraged when he bumped into her today and walked away without any explanation. He did not even look at her, let alone saying hello to her! He just walked away as if they were strangers. What was that!

Ginny was so furious that she spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about how unbelievably rude he was, and that she just could not believe that this is happening. As soon as she got into her bedroom, she deliberately covered her face with a pillow, and screamed all her frustration out.

[ _break_ ]

Lucky that Ginny never took so long to vent her anger and sadness. Within five minutes, she was already sitting in front of her desk, pretending to play a piano on its surface, while waiting for her old laptop to start up. It once belonged to her brother Percy; the operating software was outdated and even the logo on the body was gone already, but at least it still functioned perfectly. And Ginny just do not know how she is going to survive without it.

Because she loves to write.

Being the only daughter of seven children, no matter how close she was with her brothers, there are just some things she could not talk about with them. Fred and George would pretend to fall asleep whenever she talks about dresses for her imaginary friends; Ron would laugh at her dream knight ("You want a guy riding on a white horse? Go date Gandalf!"); even Percy would start lecturing her about science when she thought it would be cool to swim across the ocean in a teacup.

Writing gave a space where she can talk about whatever adventures she wants to have without being laughed on. Apart from that, she also loves to write about personal strength. _Jane Eyre_  is one of her favourite stories, and she had been trying to make something similar to that. About how a heroine struggled with the pain of being abandoned or abused, and how her personal strength enabled her to survive poverty and lived as a strong, independent woman before finally meeting her dream man.

Once she finished writing such kind of stories, she would read it over and over again, imagining herself to be centre of that story. It was like having a book that you can direct the content yourself. So, imagine how she felt when one day Percy declared that he had saved enough money to buy himself a new computer, and thus leaving his old one free to be used by his sister (who was once being given a pink typewriter by Aunt Muriel. Typewriter!).

Anyway, back to the present.

Ginny quickly opened the internet browser and typed the address of the website where she recently posted her fiction works. The website was like a social media network where members had to sign up for an account before they got to post their fiction works on their page. People get to read the works and give away reviews, so that the members would be able to improve their writing skills.

The problem is, she had not been getting many reviews. By far she had posted three stories, and only one of them had managed to score a few readers and two reviews; one softly reminding her to get a thesaurus (so that she does not repeat the same words over again), while the other one chose to be frank by saying that there is nothing interesting in her story and that it flows really badly. She just posted her third story yesterday, so it is a bit too much to expect that anyone would have read it already.

It turned out that she was wrong. Someone had posted a review for her newly uploaded story, and this is what that person is saying.

 _Dear Gin the Catlady_ (this certainly is her pen name),

_I have to say that I am really impressed with how your writing skills developed so far. I stumbled upon this particular story of yours and fell in love with it, and when I checked out your previous two stories, wow! The progress is significant._

_I love how you portrayed human sufferings. You have successfully captured the emotions of the young girl in the story, so livid that I have to assume that you yourself is also a young girl (or just really amazing in reading others' mind). Most of all, you brought out social issues such as poverty and social stratification and how it affect the mind of young people. This is a very important message._

_The only downside that I noticed was two or three grammatical errors, but you can easily fix that. Great job!_

Ginny's first reaction was to pick up her jaw where she had dropped them. Then she blinked, and her clear gaze proved that the writings were real.

It was real. Someone had written a long, in-depth review of her story, and it was a positive one! Someone complimented her works! Someone likes her works! Oh could this be real! Ginny jumped out of her chair and started singing happily around the room.

Her first positive review! Her first fan! Her...

"GINEVRA WEASLEY ARE YOU EVER GOING TO COME DOWN AND HELP ME!"

With regrets, Ginny stopped singing, grabbed a blue apron with a caricature of her mother on it, and ran to the ground floor.

[ _break]_

As soon as she arrived at the ground floor, where her family's fish-and-chip shop is, Ginny was greeted by a sulking Ron who complained about how he had to leave his duty in the dishwashing post to take over her waitressing job. She then had to spent the next hours running around to take and deliver customers' order, clearing up a table once they are done, while being constantly being nagged by her mother from the kitchen.

Only after the last customer had left that she was finally able to breath and sit behind the cashier table, watching Tonks (the punk-rocker who does part-time job at her family's shop) counting the money that they had earned today. "This is a very long night, Tonks."

"Of course, I actually missed a date tonight."

Ginny giggled. Now that work is over, she finally had the chance to think about the review she just received.

Ah, her reviewer. Finally she had someone who enjoys her story. If only she knew who that person is ... Wait.

Was it an anonymous, or a signed review? Because if it was a signed review, then whoever left it was surely a member of that site as well! And she can see her profile! (She was quite sure that it was a woman, somehow. Surely boys could not be that warm and understanding)

Ginny then quickly ran off to her room on the second floor of the building. Her laptop was left open on her desk, its body had became a bit warm after being on for too long. She opened up the window where she read the review, and her hands were shaking as she scrolled up and down to look for a name ... There it is.

_Review posted by TM Riddle._

She took a deep breath and clicked the name. She was soon directed to an almost blank page, where there is only an avatar with the picture of a skull and a snake protruding out of its mouth ("Gosh, that's scary," she muttered). There was no explanation in the user's profile page; not even any uploaded stories. The only thing to be sure of is that the person resided in the United Kingdom as well, and that he/she had been in the website for quite a while (strangely enough, without any works published).

Ginny took her fingers away from the keyboard. She then put her index finger on her lips, a habit that she always showed whenever she was fascinated by something.

 _This is strange_ ... She thought. _Riddle. Is that even a real name?_

She finally decided that there was no way to find out. Shutting down the computer, she chose to end her day by jumping into her bed.

She was relieved, the hard day ended with the appearance of a mysterious person, which managed to make her feel warm inside.


	3. Ginevra Found A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But a killer is out on the run.

**Ginevra Found A Friend**

The bedroom was a bit dark, so the young man had to crouch and put his hand on the gentleman's neck to ensure that he was no longer pulsating.

The gentleman, about as old as anyone's grandfather, laid motionless on the wooden floor, right in front of his own bed. His eyes were wide open; there was this surprised look on his face. From above, it seems as if he was lying on his own pool of blood, as the dark fluid continued to flow out of his heart, staining his expensive silk pyjamas. His legs sprawled apart and one of his hands was near his heart, where an apparent gunshot wound could be seen. As if he was able to stop the bullet by doing so.

The young man got up and inspected the surrounding of the gentleman's body, being very careful not to leave any footprints or other marks that might lead into his involvement in the crime.

Blood, check. Evidences, check. Dead body, check.

Now, the weapon ...

He then turned around and shifted his attention to the second dead body on the floor. This one was of a younger man, who looked much like the older man in the other side of the room.  Judging from the clothes that he wore, it seemed like he had just arrived home from work. There was a gunshot wound on the left side of his head, and the living young man smiled happily at it, admiring his own shooting skills.

I forgot to tell you that he had a gun in his hand. He had killed the older man with it, and then his son as well when he walked into the room. Now, all that he had to do was to put the blame into another hand. Creating diversion. Keeping his beautiful, long-fingered hands clean. So, he put the gun on the left hand of the second dead body.

He carefully arranged the placement of the gun so that it really looked as if it fell naturally to the floor. He even made sure that the young man's fingers did touch the trigger of the gun, so that his fingerprints would be imprinted there.

After placing the gun in the dead body's hand, he walked back a few steps, trying to observe the situation in the bedroom more clearly.

He believed that he had created a realistic and believable scene. A son had had a quarrel with his father (he had dropped a beautiful piece of china to the floor to make it seems as if there was a fight before), then he pulled out his father's gun (which was always in a drawer near the door, he had confirmed this little fact) and killed his father. The son regretted his action and finally took his own life.

It was perfect. Wow, he really should consider writing and directing a drama. He is indeed really good at creating a scene!

However, deep inside he knew that he could not do this forever. There should be better ways of doing this, and he needs to find it as soon as possible. Before suspicions arise and it ends up destroying him.

Our subject then opened the bedroom door. The blinding light outside created the silhouette of a tall, slender man wearing a knee-length winter coat. His dark eyes glinted as he took off the surgical gloves on his hand.

With a smirk, he left.

[ _break_ ]

The school bell rang and students ran out of classes as if they were being chased by an angry bison.

Ginny could be seen walking slowly behind those savages, her attention was on her smartphone (which was once belonged to her eldest brother Bill). Last night she was so tired that she did not get to reply the review given by that mysterious TMRiddle, so she felt like she should allocate some time to reply it as a form of appreciation.

_OMG thank you so much the review! I've never received positive reviews before, you've pumped up my spirit! I'm gonna update the story :D Hope you like it!_

She clicked 'send' and put her gadget into the pocket of her uniform. Picking up her pace, she finally stopped right in front of a big door with the sign 'AUDITORIUM' over it.

Slowly she opened the door, observed the almost empty room, and walked down the descending stairs to join her brother Ron (an apparent red-head among rows of velvet blue chairs) watching Hermione doing a debate practice.

Hermione was doing her speech on the podium as the Leader of Opposition; her lips moved ceaselessly in a fiery tone, shooting up rebuttals to Prime Minister's case. Ginny leaned forward in order to be able to listen more closely; it turned out that she was talking about genetically modified crops. Ginny made a snoring sound, and her focus soon wandered into Hermione's teammate Luna (who was wearing a sailor hat and was doodling mindlessly in her notebook).

Ginny then turned her head into Ron's direction, only to found out that her brother was discreetly enjoying a bag of crisps. "You can't bring food here!"

"Yes, if you don't shout about it!"

The two siblings ended up fighting over the bag of chips; Ron tried to keep it away from his sister, while Ginny tried to confiscate it. The bag then burst and the siblings found themselves under a shower of crisps, much to the dislike of the school caretaker Hagrid ("Hey, yeh two. Over there, ninth row. Clean it up, won't yer?").

They ended up not talking for the rest of the debate. Ginny even made a point of moving two rows behind Ron's to avoid talking to him, because she was just that annoyed at her brother. Seriously, is it her fault that he had to be so stupid?

When the opposition's whip is giving away his speech (Ginny had no idea who that kid is), much to Ginny's surprise and irritation, Harry suddenly showed up at the auditorium.

He was still wearing his football attire, and was actually carrying a muddy pair of football shoes in his hand. His Nike bag swing lightly when he walked down the stairs to Ron's direction. Suddenly he caught a glimpse of Ginny, and waved cheerfully at her with his free hand.

 _How are you?_ he mouthed, not wanting to make too much noises.

Ginny replied by dropping her jaw in disbelief ( _So now that my brother's here he suddenly remembered who I am?_ ). But before she had a chance to open her mouth, he had already sat beside Ron and started talking about football.

Ginny threw herself to the chair furiously. Her fingers typed a message in her smartphone in a maddening speed. The message was then sent to Ron, complaining about his best friend's behaviour yesterday.

As soon as the debate was finished, and Mr. Lupin, the English teacher and the debate club's supervisor, had done giving them some comments, Hermione walked towards Ron and Harry, looking as if she was ready to kill anyone who is in her way. "I-am-furious!"

Running out of breath, she threw her notebook to the chair in front of Harry's.

"But you just won first place!" Ron stared in disbelief.

"No! Not that ...," she replied, looking swiftly at the stage, where the 'sailor' was doing a mute speech on the podium.

"It's HER!" she hissed.

Ron sighed, scratching the back of his head, while Harry just could not stop laughing. Ginny, whose curiosity was triggered, had forgotten her resentment against her brother and his friend and joined the conversation. "What, what? What about her?"

"Oh, Ginny, you wouldn't believe the things she said," Hermione replied heavily. "If I didn't steer eighty per cent of our argument, then only God knows how we're going to survive this competition ..."

"But isn't that always the case? You steer what everyone is saying ...," Ron said. Luckily for him, Hermione was not listening.

"Can you believe that she was going to say ... That we shouldn't modify the genetic code of vegetables ... Because vegetables had no voice and thus won't be able to say no to whatever scientists are doing to them! She also said that there's a disease called 'Crembitionisus', that would attack GM crops, if ..."

"Uhm, 'mione...," Harry interrupted, staring meaningfully at something behind Hermione's back.

She quit talking and turned around to find Luna the sailor standing behind her.

"Hello everyone," Luna said calmly, taking a rolled-up newspaper out of the back of her skirt. "Have you read the newspaper today?"

"Oh? I thought you need be at least twenty before you can read it," Ron said.

Ginny scratched her own face furiously; if his brother was trying to be funny then he clearly failed.

"Luna ...," Hermione started, struggling hard to maintain her patience. "When I told you that you need to read more newspaper, I was talking about the real stuff ... Not ... Not a crime tabloid like that!"

"There's no difference," Luna replied coolly. "It's all hard news here. Look, this government official was murdered by his own son," she continued, showing a picture of a bloody murder scene, which was on the first page.

Everyone made a loud "Eewww!" when the uncensored picture appeared before their eyes; Ginny noticed that Harry angrily turned his head away ( _Ah, of course. It must have reminded him of his own parents_ ).

"Yeah. They fought and the son killed himself after shooting the father... Very dramatic," said Luna, reading parts of the articles. "But I know it wasn't the son who did it. It's somebody else ..."

"Luna! You're able to investigate a crime scene without even being there. Impressive," Hermione interrupted, unable to contain the urge to prove just how much of a non-sense she was.

"Envy. Ambition," Luna muttered, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath. "I can feel it ..."

Ginny was just about to ask Luna how exactly she was able to feel the ambience of a crime scene far away, when she noticed a new email on her smartphone.

_Subject: you received a Private Message from TMRiddle_

Ginny made a choking noise. She scrolled the email up and down, and yes, there it is.

_Glad to know. Do create an update. I am waiting._

Everyone was then left to wonder why the junior high school girl suddenly went hysterical.

[ _break_ ]

It is amazing how having loyal reader affected a writer's productivity level. Ever since she received a (positive) review from that mysterious TMRiddle person, Ginny realised that she could not think of anything else but to create an update for her story.

During classes, she scribbled an outline for the new chapter behind her textbook, and she also managed to magically juggle waitressing and writing at the same time, by mentally writing dialogue for her story while she waited for the customers to finish reading the menu and give her order.

Unfortunately, this sudden rush of creativity lasted for three days only. Like a firework which was at its finest when it first exploded, then slowly faded into silence, on the fourth day she stared blankly at her laptop screen, not knowing what else to write. The laptop had been turned off since, and she spent Saturday (which is supposed to be a perfect time to finish her story) going to see a movie with Fred and George.

After the trip to the cinema, the rest of her weekend was spent in idleness, apart from the time she was working at her family's fish-and-chips shop. She was sitting around lazily on her bed, sucking a lollipop and reading a teen magazine, when a red light blinked on her phone.

_Where is the new chapter?_

I think by now you can already guess who it was.

Ginny almost swallowed her lollipop in surprise.

 _Blimey_ , she thought. _He... um, she... didn't forget about it!_

The girl quickly fixed her sitting position, with her thumbs dancing wildly on the phone. She really did not think that her reviewer would actually go to the extend of reminding her to update her story. She thought TMRiddle was just being polite and customary when she said she will be waiting for an update, and that's all.

_Dear TMRiddle,_

_Gosh, so sorry for the late update :'( I was doing fine until I started to lose inspiration ... Now I don't even know what to write :'( :'( :'( I guess this is what they call writer's block. I'm so sorry for disappointing you._

_Gin._

She sighed deeply as she clicked the 'send' button, feeling so stupid for letting a reader down, while she was being very faithful in waiting for her updates. _Really, I should start working again_.

She was just turning on her laptop and logging into her email account when she found out that another message was coming.

_Dear Gin,_

_Writer's block is a myth. I know this sounds as if I was holding a whip on my hand and forcing you to work (sounds quite fun!), but believe me when I tell you that it is merely a shallow pool that many lazy writers let themselves drowned in._

_The hardest yet the most important part of being a writer –I assume that you want to become one when you grow up?- is to ensure that writing become a part of your daily routine. Not just something to do when you are bored or 'in the mood'. Just like any other job._

_My advice is for you to make a habit of writing at least a paragraph a day. Push yourself to come up with something. Do not give up when your mind tells you that you have nothing to write; you can, and will have something to write. Open your eyes. Use your imagination. Talk to people. Something will eventually appear. A writing job cannot depend on your mood only. You have to work hard to come up with something._

_Anyway, you can just call me Tom._

Ginny pulled a funny face as if she accidentally dropped her mother's favourite vase. So this TMRiddle person is a bloke. How embarrassing of her to think of him as a woman, just because he was being warm and kind.

Shame on you, Ginny, surely there are good men as well. And yes, one good man had given her an advice on how to deal with her writer's block. She might as well give it a try.

_Dear Tom,_

_I feel a bit awkward calling you by your first name :D and oh please call me Ginny, it's my nickname. At first Gin felt short and sweet for a pen name, but now I feel like a bottle in a pub._

_Alright, I'm gonna try your advice :D I'll send you a PM again if it works!_

_Thank you very much!_

The message was sent and Ginny directly opened the file that she is working on.

Five minutes later, she still had no idea what to write.

"It's not working...," she muttered, scrolling up and down, re-reading her own writings. Last time she was writing a scene where the heroine had a fight with the rich gentleman; she threw him a pie and made strong remarks about how bad he was as a person. Then it stopped. That's all. She did not know what else to do after that.

But hey... What if she write about the rich gentleman's reaction for the pie-throwing action? The rich gentleman also had bodyguards. Maybe a little fight sequence will do.

She then started to type a sentence, two, three ... before she realised it, her typing speed increase and she was soon lost in her own realm of imagination. In the next ten minutes, Ginny learned that she gone beyond writing a paragraph. She ended up writing a full scene, completed with that fighting sequence she suddenly had an idea of.

She jumped into her bed, laughing endlessly, feeling accomplished.

As she calmed down, she slowly closed her eyes and said to herself, "Tom ..."

She liked how the name came out of her lips.

[ _break_ ]

Meanwhile, downstairs at the back of the fish-and-chips shop's kitchen, Ron and Harry could be seen sitting right on the door that leads into small backyard. Each of them had a plate of Mrs. Weasley's signature cheese fish-and-chips, completed with peas and black vinegar.

None of the boys seem to notice the existence of his best friend, until suddenly Harry began to speak up. "Ron, what happened to your sister?"

"Ba-don?" Ron replied with a full mouth.

"She seemed upset with me," Harry answered, slicing the fish. "I don't know why, she just looked angry today when she saw me."

Ron finally swallowed the content of his mouth. "Do you wanna know what happened?"

Harry lifted up his head, replying "Of course" before putting a chunk of fish into his mouth.

"Well ... She texted me and she said ... Last Monday, she saw you at the canteen. And she's mad because you didn't say hello to her," Ron began.

Harry's face quickly changed. "But on Monday ...!"

Ron started to laugh. "Yeah, I know. Apparently, someone also needs glasses."

The two boys soon laughed so hard that they would start rolling on the backyard if it was not for the plate they are holding. Because it turned out that Harry's glasses was broken and sent to the optic on Monday, which is why he had to go to school with a terrible, blurry sight.

Funny how Ginny was not able to see that.


	4. Infatuation Part 1 - A Fascinating Riddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The person behind the words.

**Infatuation Part 1 - A Fascinating Riddle**

Let us take a step back in time and see what happened in the other side of the city, the day after Ginny first received the review for her fiction works. We are going to need this knowledge in order to move forward with this story.

It was a small flat in one of the more respectable parts of London. Outside, the sky was dark already, yet Tom Marvolo Riddle believed that it was never too late for a cup of tea. He stood in front of the stove, watching the water boiled in the saucepan before taking it up and pour it into a big cup which bore the crest of his almamater. After that, he opened up a box which contained various kinds of tea, arranged alphabetically --his choice fell into an Earl Grey. The cold night and excessive workload called for something sharp and strong. Tom leaned on the edge of kitchen table, waiting for the crucial first five minutes to pass before his drink was ready. Without any need for sugar or milk.

His gaze fell into one of the pots and pans hanging on the wall of the kitchen. As he slowly began to sip his drink, a pair of sharp dark eyes stared back at him. They told him that the owner was deeply lost in thought, as if waiting for something. And the waiting process was not a pleasant one for him.

When he sipped his drink, the heat evaporating from it gave his pale cheek a slight pink blush. Stroking his wavy, jet-black hair, he walked out of the kitchen to get back into his study, where work was waiting.

Soon the light of his study was turned on again.

Tom walked into the direction of his working desk, where a laptop was placed neatly in the middle of it, among piles of folders and papers. Carefully he put his cup on one side of the table, making sure that it was far enough from the folders and his laptop, to avoid any unwanted accident.

He took up his phone, which was put carelessly on a piece of paper that he had been using to scribble his thoughts. After clearing up all the notifications, he looked up into his computer, and prepared to continue his work by opening up his email inboxes.

There were at last five new email messages in all of those inboxes, and he quickly replied two of the most urgent in his business purpose account. Another two in his personal account were merely newsletters from leading news portals, and they went straight to the virtual dustbin. There were also reply messages from Gin the Catlady.

Without much of a second glance, he deleted it.

He logged out and opened up the file that he has been working on. He stopped for a while, reading what he had written so far, trying to catch up where he had left it. Then he confirmed it with the messy scribbles and the mindmap on the piece of paper before beginning to type again.

Type. Type. Type. Pause. Lips moved soundlessly. Type. Type.

His dark eyes glinted with intensity, its fire did not die out even when he stopped for a gulp of tea. He continued to get infatuated by what he is doing until the phone rang, demanding him to stop and pick it up.

Straightening his back, Tom spoke in a business-like tone. "Riddle here."

The caller seemed to be saying something at the other end, and the conversation was soon coming to an end. "Understood. I am on my way. Thank you."

He then stood up and prepared to leave his study.

In the next hour, Tom found himself on the driver's side of a black sedan, moving at an unbelievable speed towards his destination.

He had switched his jumper and jeans into a nice set of business suit, which consists of a black woolen coat, and a matching pair of dark grey jacket and pants, with white shirt and dark green tie. He looked as if he was really born to wear such kind of clothing; it fitted really well to his figure and the way he brought himself, and he seemed very at ease in it, as if they were T-shirt and shorts.

The signs of distress --that had been apparent on his beautiful face since moments ago-- became more prevalent as the night went on. As he got closer to his destination, he actually bit his lip in anxiety.

But his eyes glinted with excitement as the car moved into Downing Street, passed a seemingly endless group of security check, and stopped right in front of the house with a Number 10 hanging on its dark, polished door.

[ _break_ ]

Prime Minister Dippet was sitting in his working desk; his attention was on the neatly piled folders in front of him. The old man had one of them opened and was carefully studying its content.

Heaven, he had so many decisions to make in one night. There was the meeting with the Ambassador of United States (He never enjoyed this, both on professional or personal level); the proposed new military budget (Damn you, bloody terrorists, damn you); that student protest asking him to resign (What do you know about forming a government, lad? He was already standing for office when you were still in diapers!). Oh, and that speech in the next United Nations General Assembly. His country had been taking a rather unpopular stance with its environment policy, he really needed to be careful with that, and...

Knock, knock.

"Come in," the old man said, his voice managed to conceal the conflicts of his mind.

The door then opened, and Tom Riddle could be seen standing there with a polite smile and a nod. He had left his woolen coat downstairs, and was carrying a folder and an iPad with a smooth black leather cover.

"Riddle! I have been expecting you," said Dippet, motioning to one of the two chairs in front of him. "Please, have a seat."

"Thank you, Prime Minister," Tom replied, moving forward to sit in front of the old man.

For a few seconds, the two gentlemen just sat there and stare at each other. Dippet was so intense in the way he looked at the ministry of foreign affairs' junior spokesperson, as if trying to read his mind, while Tom himself just sat there with indifference on his eyes, his smile remained polite and reserved.

"Well, Riddle ... I would not waste any more time, as I believe we do not have many of them ...," Dippet sighed, beginning to say what he longed to. "But I believe that you have heard about the sad news?"

"About Mr. Grindelwald, sir? Yes, I have," Riddle answered. "I went to his residence this afternoon, it was ... really tragic, sir."

His face showing an expression of deep concern, yet his body language remained calm and controlled when he said it.

Dippet took a deep breath. "Indeed, it is very, very shocking for us all... Never thought...," Dippet sighed. "I offer you my deepest condolence for the death of your superior, Riddle. It is a great loss for the office."

"Thank you, sir, that was very kind of you," Riddle replied. "Mr. Grindelwald is an excellent diplomat and had always been an example for the younger generation at the ministry, like me."

"But this is shocking, isn't it ... Never thought that he would have such tragic death. Being murdered by his own son like that," Dippet continued, sadness made him looked even older than he already is. "His family had always been respectable, free from scandals ..."

"I heard the intelligence is starting to probe into this matter, sir ..."

Dippet suddenly lifted his head. "The intelligence? Is there something that I do not know, Riddle? Is there something behind this ... this incident?"

For a split second, Riddle looked a bit taken aback. But then his self-control returned and he managed to give another polite smile, "No, sir. No. Even if there is ... I believe the intelligence themselves are the most capable of speaking about it," he said. "Not me."

There was a strange glint in his eyes. It looks a bit like victory, but unfortunately Dippet was too lost in his own thought to be aware of it.

"Right ... Right, I am sure it is. Very well, while we are at it ... I want to talk to you about something, Riddle ...," Dippet said, his focus returned into the opened folder in front of him.

"Please, sir."

"Due to this... Unpredictable nature of Mr. Grindelwald's departure, our director of foreign affairs' spokesperson office, there is a need to immediately find a suitable person to resume his responsibilities ...," Dipper slowly began to speak.

Tom listened carefully.

"However, judging from our condition, with so many things to catch up with, the ministry found that it would be ... impractical, to recruit someone new. And I absolutely agree," Dippet said, staring intensely at Tom. "Beside, there's only two years left... If you follow me."

"Yes, sir."

"... which is why it is decided that ... for the time being, you will be taking over Grindelwald's responsibilities until we find someone to replace him."

Even with his exceptional skill at self-control, it was really hard for Tom to contain the excitement in his eyes. His smile grew, and there was this hint of satisfaction as he heard about his appointment. "Thank you very much, Prime Minister. I am deeply honoured."

"Yes, yes ... you are welcome. I have always notice your extraordinary talent, Riddle. Being young, and already in this position. I believe that this is your time to shine. You would have no difficulties doing all his works, I am certain," Dippet said.

"I will do my best, sir, I will not disappoint you," Tom added hastily.

"Very well! Then I must tell you that we need to begin work immediately. The ministry is doing the paper work, but I need you to help me now ...," Dippet said, his hands moved wildly. Tom quickly opened the covering of his iPad, getting ready to take down notes.

"Regarding my speech at the UNGA next month ..."

"Mr. Grindelwald and I had prepared the first draft for you, sir," Tom replied, handing the folder in his hand to the Prime Minister. "If you please ...."

"Excellent! Very well, Riddle ...," Dippet replied, the lights on his eyes returned when he accepted that folder. "Now, I am very sorry to say this, Riddle, but I think I have to make you stay for the whole night! We have things to do here ...."

Riddle gave a polite laugh. "You can rely on me for that, sir."

"Fantastic...," Dippet muttered, his sight wandered around to the things on his room. "Anyway, what would you like to drink? I have this really good whiskey sent from an old colleague of mine, I can ask Tom -the other Tom, not you- to fetch it ..."

Tom (the young, beautiful one) lifted up his head, and give a warm smile. "Tea will be fine, please, thank you."

The victory in his eyes had not fade away.

 

[ _break_ ]

Today was a bright and sunny afternoon, yet Ginny Weasley had another reason to be excited as she sat in her family's fish-and-chips' shop to enjoy an afternoon tea.

Almost all of the Weasleys were there, with the exception of Mr. Weasley (who had not yet return from work at the post office) and the oldest boys Bill and Charlie (who are in different places all over the world). The plastic tables at the shop are being put together in the middle of the room, enabling them all to sit together in comfort, while a puffing pot of tea could be seen in the middle of a sea of pastries and cakes. Everything was made by their mother herself. It looked as if the Weasleys were having their very own a very merry unbirthday party, except that they were not mad and did not wear funny hats.

However, as I have told you, Ginny had her own reasons to be giddy and excited.

She had finally managed to finish her new chapter in the last two night. It immediately went to her publishing account, and yes, as if the website's automated alert was not enough, she deliberately sent a spirited, enthusiastic message to Tom to inform him of this new addition ("TOOOOOM I MADE IIIIIIIIIIIT!" was exactly how it looked like).

Eager to see what he was going to say about it, as well as being haunted by the fear that he may not going to like it, for the next two days Ginny just could not stop staring at her phone, which was now placed right in front of her plate. She looked as if she was considering to have it for tea.

Mrs. Weasley was not very happy about her only daughter's behaviour.

"Ginevra Weasley!"

Ginny almost jumped and threw the table away. "Y-yes ... Mom?"

"Are you ever going to put your phone away and pay attention to us?"

There was an awkward silence as Mrs. Weasley glared at her, while all four of her brothers stuffing their face with strawberry scones.

"Paying attention to ... All of them, pigging out?" Ginny asked, her eyebrow lifted in disgust as George put two scones at the same time into his mouth (when Mom was not watching, of course).

"It's not about the eating, but here we are to have a family time. You may as well try to make conversation with us," Mrs. Weasley replied, still looking displeased.

Ginny found this idea to be hideous, as Percy, who was sitting next to her, had been spending the whole hour staring into a thick Chemistry textbook with a highlighter in his hand, slowly munching a pastry. "But Percy hasn't been paying attention as well! He's busy with his book!"

"It's called studying," Percy replied, without even taking his eyes off the book.

"Your brother is studying for his GCSEs, and he's applying for medical school ... He is excused," said Mrs. Weasley.

"So I'm not excused because I'm not, and won't ever, enter a med school?"

"Stop being ridiculous! I don't see my children like that!" Mrs. Weasley. "Don't you dare making all these ... non-sensical accusations as excuses for your behaviour!"

"Mom! You're being unfair here! Percy is not paying attention as well, but why ...."

"Enough! ENOUGH!"

Ginny went quiet. Her instinct told her that it will be much too dangerous to continue arguing when her mother started to look like that. As suspected, Mrs. Weasley got up, and then, much to Ginny's horror, grabbed her daughter's phone away from her. "Mom! No ... I'm waiting for a reply ...."

"You're not receiving any reply!" was Mrs. Weasley's order when she put the phone into the cashier machine, and locked it there, altogether with all their money.

[ _break]_

Ginny had to spend the whole evening figuring out ways to get her phone back. First, she tried to manipulate her mother by telling her that she felt like doing some works behind the cashier today, instead of waitressing as she usually does. But of course Mrs. Weasley knew better ("No! You're going to fetch that phone as soon as I'm away in the kitchen!"). So the lady boss asked Tonks to stand at her post in the cashier table as per usual, warning her against letting Ginny get too close to the machine.

But Ginny is not the kind who give up so easily. As soon as she got free time, she spent it by standing behind Tonks' back, trying to persuade her to open the machine and give her phone back. "Tonks, I need your help."

"Nope, sweetheart, I'm not risking my salary by crossing your mother. You're welcome."

Ginny could only grunt in frustration for the rest of the evening, until the shop closed and her mother -without even a smile or anything- unexpectedly decided that she had enough punishment for the day and returned the now dead smartphone to her.

Ginny mumbled her thank you and ran away to her room, trying to get the phone on as soon as possible. She plugged in the charger, and desperately rammed the surface of her desk as she watched yellow light binking on her phone.

"Come on ... come on ... please ...," she muttered, feeling as if she could go crazy anytime soon.

The phone then went on, and she did not waste any time to wait until it was completely ready. She quickly opened her email, frantically searching for something new.

There was none.

She slammed her phone to the desk, and walked away to a mirror hanging on the wall, right in the other side of the room. Ginny did not like what she saw on the mirror. Her long, red hair was all messed up, she was not even sure if she did really comb her hair in the morning or not.

There was no trace of a smile at all in her face, and, ugh, she really despise how her lips shaped like now. Which only made her feeling worse.

She covered her face with her palm and made this frustrated, muffled yell. Then she released her face and went back into facing the mirror. That was when she realised that there on her desk, her phone was blinking with red light.

_Hello there, miss Ginny._

_I apologise for my late reply; I was recently promoted and have been occupied with work since. But I just did a quick read of your new chapter, and I think it is great. A bit cheesy on the pie-throwing part, but you can really feel the emotion, the anger that the character is radiating. I hope this means that you have decided to do my advice, and the fact that it works made me feel relieved. Congratulations._

A reply was soon sent.

_Dear Tom._

_OMG I'm really worried when you didn't reply ASAP! I thought you don't like the story or something :( But now that you've read it and you like it, that really put me beyond relief. Phew!_

_And yes, your advice really worked! I went blank the first 5 mins but then I just kept on going and the story's suddenly there! Thank you, thank you so much! You don't know how how helpful it was for me :D_

_Which makes me wonder... You seem to understand so much about writing. Are you a writer?_

_Congratulations for your promotion! Wow, you're so amazing!_

When you are that excited even typing a reply can be so breathtaking. Ginny then arranged her pillows to make a comfortable sitting position, and as soon as she hit them, another message came in.

_Thank you for your congratulations, Ginny, and for deciding to follow my advice. I am really happy that it worked for you._

_As for my job ... Am I a writer? Yes, I think I am. In a way._

_Anyway, Ginny, wouldn't it be more comfortable to continue our conversation via Messenger or Skype? This is getting a bit weird._

The message was then ended with an email address, and a request for her too invite him for an online chat.

"Oh my God! Oh my God ...," was Ginny's breathless reaction to his request. She then opened up the said Messenger on her phone and type his e-mail address to invite him to her contacts. Even during the waiting moment, she took the liberty to comb her hair in front of the mirror, then came back to sit prettily, as if he was able to see her from the phone.

A message came with a loud 'ping!' sound.

_tmriddle : That was fast._

_Catlady_Ginny : Uhm, yes :D hi Tom_

She sent an emoji of a smiling face with waving hands. He replied with a similar emoji. Even seeing them made Ginny wanted to die ( _Why am I so excited?_ ).

_Catlady_Ginny : So... um, a/s/l? LOL_

She laughed at herself while secretly hoping that he would understand her humour.

_tmriddle : Age and location are secrets. But you know perfectly that I'm a bloke. LOL._

_Catlady_Ginny : Y? :( hmmm alright then._

_tmriddle : I'll tell you someday :)_

_tmriddle : So, how's your day, little friend?_

_Catlady_Ginny : How do u know that I'm younger than u?_

_tmriddle : I could tell ;)_

_Catlady_Ginny: :( u r so secretive_

_tmriddle : All in good time :) See, even your reaction tells it all._

_Catlady_Ginny : :(_

_tmriddle : Hey, don't be sad. You managed to finish a chapter. That's the mark of a good day, isn't it?_

Ginny felt a warm blush on her cheek before she could manage a reply.

_Catlady_Ginny : thanks. U r very sweet, Tom._

_tmriddle : You deserve it._

_Catlady_Ginny : OK I'm speechless now_

_tmriddle : Don't be. It's just me._

_tmriddle : So how are the cats?_

_Catlady_Ginny : How do u know that I used to have cats?_

_tmriddle : Your username?_

Ginny slapped her own head at his answer ( _Just how stupid can you be, Ginevra?_ ).

_Catlady_Ginny : right, that's very silly of me._

_Catlady_Ginny : Soooo u said u r being promoted :D_

_tmriddle : Yes I am. But it was not a completely happy story, though._

_Catlady_Ginny : Y? :( u r not proud of yourself?_

_tmriddle : Oh no, it's not like that. I'm proud of my achievements. It's just that ... I'm being promoted because my boss had passed away. That's why I was chosen to fill his position and do his duty._

_Catlady_Ginny : OMG so sorry to hear that :( but hey surely they chose you because you're the best that they have, right? what happened to ur boss? Is he ill?_

_tmriddle : Thank you. No, he was murdered_

Ginny sent an emoji of a shocked face, accurately mimicking her very own facial expression.

_tmriddle : I know, it's like a book, right._

_Catlady_Ginny : OMG be careful Tom... he might come after you next!_

_tmriddle : No, he would not._

_tmriddle : Thank you for your concerns though._

_Catlady_Ginny : Sounds like u have a quite dangerous job ... But u said u r a writer?_

_tmriddle : Some sort of a writer, yes._

_Catlady_Ginny : OK I'm confused._

_Catlady_Ginny : R u a journalist?_

_tmriddle : No. My job involves writing, but not writing per se. I read International Law in my undergrad and it has a significant contribution for my work._

_tmriddle : Journalists and writers are not the only profession that involves writing, dear._

_Catlady_Ginny : Oh? Rly? What else?_

_tmriddle: Most careers in the media and communications field required the ability to write, e.g. copywriter, PR officer._

_Catlady_Ginny : Oh I c... Thanks for the info. I need to know 'cuz I really want to write for a living, but my parents said fiction writing isn't a safe career choice._

_tmriddle : That's great. Well, you can always do both :) I have read your stories and I realised that you are progressing rapidly for a young writer_

_Catlady_Ginny : Thank you, Tom..._

_tmriddle : You can do it :)_

Far away in the different part of the city, Tom Riddle may not realised that the simple things he wrote on the Messenger as he finished his work late at night would meant the world for a certain young girl. But most importantly, he had not yet realised how much he himself can benefit from this encounter.

He was just looking for a little entertainment when he decided to invite little Ginny Weasley for a chat.

 

 


	5. Infatuation Part 2 - Candy/Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They both taste sweet.

**Infatuation Part 2 - Candy/Poison**

As soon as every students were on board, the school bus shut its door close and started to move.

The row of seats at the back of the driver's was especially reserved for Harry Potter and his friends, which often includes Ginny, tagging along whenever her brother Ron goes. It was a windy Monday afternoon and nothing really special had happened today in the life of our young friends.

Leaning to the back of the seat in front of her, Ginny watched each one of her brother's friends doing their own things.

Hermione was sitting beside her, fussing over a test result that had just being returned by the teacher. She got 92 out of 100, and she was wondering where did the remaining 8 points go.

Ron was having a heated argument with Luna; one of them was trying to convince the other that pizza is now a kind of vegetable, and I guess you can tell who.

Neville Longbottom, another friend of Harry's, was busy looking for his phone; he lost them so many times no one even bothered to help him anymore.

Harry himself was busy playing a game in his phone; his eyes accidentally met Ginny for a split second. Unfortunately Ginny chose to be more interested in watching Hermione and her books, and had to miss a little 'hello' smile that Harry just sent to her. He ended up looking confused and chose to focus back on his game.

On the farthest seat on the bus, Fred was trying to woo a girl, with the (useless) help of George as his wingman. All passengers' attention was in the effort of the funny bloke; however it seems like they see it more as a comedy show than a romance film. Ginny was not sure whether she has to be happy for her brother or not.

Since everyone was practically busy, Ginny decided that she should make herself occupied as well, and not depend too much on everyone's company to have fun. She knew how to do it, and did not need everyone to help her achieve that. They should learn that she is much more independent than is expected, thank you very much.

So, after swishing her red hair to the back, she took out her phone, and her fingers immediately found their way to the Messenger. Without even thinking.

She clicked it open, and change her status into 'Available'. Then she scrolled down her contact lists to find out who was also online.

No, _tmriddle_ was not one of them.

Ginny sighed. Oh, if only he was there. She closed her eyes to remember how they began to talk days ago, and ever since that, they had been talking for at least twice. Nothing too heavy, just some small talks. Mostly on how her writing had progressed and how her day had been so far.

During those talks, he still would not reveal much about himself, though Ginny was sure by now he had already known that Ginny is a junior high school girl who is in the lacrosse team and is working part-time at her parents' fish-and-chips shop. He also knew that Ginny loves cats and collects postcards; not that much of an information, but still abundant for two people who had just met -virtually- for a week.

Sometimes she wondered if she had shared too much with this mysterious Tom bloke. But then she shook off that fear by insisting that they do not talk about anything else but her writings. And then perhaps some bits about her daily life. It is not like she had agreed to elope with him. He did not even know her full name yet.

No, Ginny knows that she is a smart girl. Smart enough to know when to say no and back away from trouble.

She clicked Tom's profile and stared at his avatar.

There was no photo to reveal how he looked like, only a picture of the skull and the snake, just like the one in his publishing account. He also never updated his status message, which was always empty (No such things as "Happy Birthday, Aunt Mabel!" or "Toothache. Need dentist ASAP" with a suitable emoji).

Mysterious and secretive are indeed the best two words to describe him. She had no idea how old he was, how he looked like. Where he lived (Somewhere in England, that is for sure. A simple matter as England is only as big as a coffee table), what exactly he did for a living (He still would not give a clear answer). Whether he was married or single or divorced. And most importantly, what his intentions were.

What if Ginny takes the initiative to find out who he is?

Well, because in this postmodern age, everyone's identity was scattered all over the net. She just had to type his full name in the search engine, and something will come up within seconds. Perhaps an article about him winning the first prize in a literary competition, a forum where he posted news about his favourite football team. His account on that popular social networking site.

The only problem was that she did not know what his name is. Yes, he was Tom. But Tom who? Was it really his name? It was such a common nickname. Was it even his real nickname, how he is being known in real life?

Then there was also the word 'Riddle' in his username. At first she thought it was really his surname, and she did type them on the search engine. But she ended up finding hundreds of people with the same name from various part of the world, so many that she did not even bother to look at them.

Apart from that, she did not really think 'Riddle' was his real name. No, it must be some sort of a jest. He liked to be secretive, and often confusing. She bet he chose that username because it fit him so.

With a deep sigh, Ginny put her phone back into her bag, barely noticing that Harry was staring at her, with a questioning look on his face.

[ _break_ ]

The door of Aunt Molly's Fish-and-Chips opened with a loud 'ding' and soon a big group of teenagers swarmed in ("Mom! We're home! Good afternoon, Mrs. Weasley!"). Mrs. Weasley herself, who was behind the cashier table, greeted them all with a massive smile ("Welcome home, kids! Harry! I have prepared your favourite cheese and fish dish!").

However, when Ginny walked pass the cashier table, her mother suddenly lost all her smile and cheerfulness, and her tone became more business-like. "Ginny. Go wash your hand and face, I need you to do something for me."

"Pardon? But everyone is ...," said Ginny, gesturing at her brothers and their friends, all rushing upstairs to check out the television.

"I am not going to say it twice, Ginny."

"But..."

" _Ginevra_."

"All right." With heavy steps, Ginny then proceeded to go upstairs and leave her things to then return to her awaiting mother.

Downstairs, she found her mother sitting in one of the plastic tables, with a thick book and piles of papers in front of her. She looked almost excited when her daughter approached her, looking reluctantly ready for whatever is coming.

"Ginny!" she greeted, beaming with a warm smile. "Sit down, my child ... I have to show you something."

Ginny took a seat beside her Mom and stole a look at the papers laid in front of her. They looked like bills and documents to her, and she wondered how they would have something to do with her. "What is it, Mom?"

Mrs. Weasley took a deep breath, swished her hair to the back in an eerily similar way to Ginny's, and with a smile, she placed her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Ginny... you are my only daughter."

Ginny felt like screaming, unable to believe that her mother still needed to inform her this cold, hard fact after all these years.

"Yes. Not to play favourites among my children, but you are special, my dear ... Well, every single one of you are special. In your own way, of course," Mrs. Weasley continued.

"Well ... Thank you, Mom," Ginny replied, her confused look indicated that she still did not understand where this is going.

"And I've seen something in you that your brothers did not have ..."

Ginny was going to reply by saying "breasts and vagina" but perhaps it would be better to keep her mother's mood in place, at times like this.

"... Which is why I decided that I am going to pass down this shop for you," Mrs. Weasley ended with a proud smile on her face. Now this was where Ginny became really surprised.

"Me? The shop?" she asked. Images that were completely unrelated to their conversation began to form in her mind, such as a pile of freshly printed book with her name on the spine.

"Yes. You are going to grow up to become a woman, my dear, and someday, you are going to have a family as well, just like me. It is important for you to find a secure job ... Well, hopefully, you'll find someone with a better income than your father, but ... Well ... The point is, you need something to help feed your family, but it shouldn't take much of your time. Or requires you to travel too far ... Oh, how I hate seeing mothers leave their kids behind to go here and there!"

Ginny started to panic as her mind was flooded with images of book-signing events, and the flights that she needed to take to get there. If her mother was able to see the inside of her mind, then she would not like what she is going to find there. And, oh no, why she began to picture herself driving a roofless jeep along the coast of California, wearing big, stylish sunglasses, with the endless summer sky on the background?

"So, in order to make sure that you are perfectly ready to run this shop, I believe that I should begin to teach you how to run a business," Mrs. Weasley proclaimed.

 _This is getting worse_ , and Ginny was not sure whether her mind was talking about her sudden rush of imagination or her mother's idea.

"You've been doing some waitressing job since last year, which is great, but not enough," said Mrs. Weasley. "So I decided to teach you some finance things to complete your understanding."

There was nothing but an image of an erupting volcano in Ginny's mind now.

The deafening noise of the eruption continued to disturb Ginny's mind as her mother shoved the accounting book in front of her and taught her the differences between debits and credits and why they have to be different. Lava started to run through her vein in form of fury, and she was not sure whether it was because of the blinding rows of numbers –which began to look like Sanskrit texts for her- or the fact that her mother expected her to stay at home and run a shop, letting go of her dreams of becoming a famous writer and see the world before it can even begin.

[ _break_ ]

Ginny threw herself to her bed, covering her hot, tired eyes with both of her hands as kaleidoscope-like images began to appear in her eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Ever since she had learned to read, Ginny had always despised numbers, and the fact that her mother just lectured her about her upcoming duties as a wife and mother did not make the recent study session any easier.

It was frustrating, really, to see where their road had begun to part. Throughout her life, like many other young girls, Ginny saw her mother as her heroine. Someone who knew about the world better than everybody else, whose decisions always managed to save her day. Someone who would always be there for her, no matter what mistakes she had made before.

That was until her mother began to reveal her plan for her ...

It was already a struggle to accept that she had created a plan for her future, let alone the fact that this plan differs greatly with what she had imagined for her future. She planned of independence, of a fulfilling career and a life full of adventures. Her mother planned of marriage, family, security, and a fish-and-chips shop for her to run, just in case her future husband's salary was not satisfying.

For the first time in her life Ginny realised how much they differ as a person, and she did not like this new face her mother is showing. Or has it always been there, but her young and naïve eyes were unable to see that?

In the middle of her agony, a message appeared on her phone with a loud 'ping'.

_tmriddle : Hello, little friend._

Her tears came flooding at the awaited appearance of the mysterious friend.

_Catlady_Ginny : Tom :'(_

_tmriddle : What's with the tears?_

Ginny then flooded his screen, at the other part of the country, with a full account of what just happened.

Tom was sympathetic.

_tmriddle : So sorry to hear that, little friend. I am sure your mother had your best interest in mind._

_tmriddle : However, I do agree with you. You should not waste your life working in fish-and-chips shop and taking care of noisy children._

"See! Even you know it's not going to work!" Ginny yelled to herself, replying with the furious speed of her fingers.

_Catlady_Ginny : I dunno what to do, Tom ... my dreams r very important 4 me... I don't wanna give them up!_

_Catlady_Ginny : I don't wanna be like Mom, stuck in her shop 24/7, not caring about anything else that happened in the world!_

_tmriddle : I understand._

_tmriddle : American feminist Betty Friedan wrote something about 'the problem that has no name', a phenomenon that happened to stay-at-home mothers in post-WWII America._

_Catlady_Ginny : Betty who?_

_tmriddle : ..._

_tmriddle : Well, the point is, being forced to become a stay-at-home mother, without a job or any other activities to express themselves and unleash their potential, is known to be potentially detrimental for women. Your concern is not unheard of, dear._

_tmriddle : That's why I said I can understand your feeling._

_Catlady_Ginny : my mom is a tyrant! No wonder Bill and Charlie went to other countries as soon as they could leave the house!_

_Catlady_Ginny : they're trying to escape her!_

_tmriddle : Bill and Charlie?_

_Catlady_Ginny : My eldest brothers. They're all abroad now._

_Catlady_Ginny : Bill works in a bank, he's transferred to Egypt 3 years ago. He became so rich! Once he invited all of us to visit him in Cairo, OMG it's amazing Tom! It was the only time I ever went abroad_

_tmriddle : Sounds wonderful :)_

_Catlady_Ginny : Yeah I went to the Pyramid! It was MASSIVE. The weather's hot but everything is really erotic...._

_Catlady_Ginny : OMG TYPO I MEAN EXOTIC_

_tmriddle : (insert an icon of a smiley face, rolling on the floor laughing)_

_tmriddle : (and again)_

_Catlady_Ginny : TOM! :'(_

_tmriddle : I'm sorry, little one, but that was PRICELESS_

_Catlady_Ginny : :'( :'( :'(_

_tmriddle : Alright, alright ... Let's get back to the Pyramid._

_tmriddle : (still laughing)_

_Catlady_Ginny : :(_

_Catlady_Ginny : Yea um it was the first time I went out of the country border. I was scared of the immigration, I'm afraid they won't let me pass :D_

_tmriddle : Because you were thinking of erotic things about the country?_

_Catlady_Ginny : (insert an icon of a red devil)_

_tmriddle : Alright, I'll keep my mouth shut_

_Catlady_Ginny : I'm being serious :( well ever since that I knew that I wanted to travel the world when I grew up. Seeing things I've only ever seen in books n films._

_Catlady_Ginny : Charlie is even better ... He works for Animal Planet, making documentaries_

_Catlady_Ginny : He'd been to the South Pole!_

_Catlady_Ginny : He's now in Indonesia doing a documentary on Komodo dragons. Every week he sends me email ... Did u know that there is a pink beach in the world?_

_tmriddle : Yes there are pink sands. They get the colour from coral reefs._

_Catlady_Ginny : It's really pretty! Pink is my fave colour_

_Catlady_Ginny : But he also sent me pictures of Komodo dragons. They're really scary :( He said they attack people when they poo in the bushes. He sent me a pic of one eating a deer! Brutal_

_tmriddle : Hey, reptiles are amazing. They are my favourite animal._

For the first time in an hour, Ginny showed a disgusted look on her face.

_tmriddle : Yes. Especially snakes, they are beautiful and strong._

_Catlady_Ginny : Ewww_

_tmriddle: <\--- This avatar. I drew it myself. Because they're just really amazing._

_Catlady_Ginny : Aren't u scared of them?_

_tmriddle : Only the weak is scared of the strong and beautiful, Ginny._

Honestly Ginny did not know how to respond to that.

_tmriddle : You are a strong girl, Ginny, you should not let your fear control you._

_tmriddle : And yes, in correlation to that ... I think you should do something about pursuing your dreams, Ginny._

_Catlady_Ginny : You mean...?_

_tmriddle : Let me ask you a question. You said you despise the fact that your mother is trying to steer you into becoming a housewife._

_tmriddle : What if she was able to do that ... Because she had no idea what you really intend to do in the future?_

Ginny dropped her jaw.

_Catlady_Ginny : Well, um... I think I once said to her n dad... That I love writing and that I wanted to be like Roald Dahl, JK Rowling, and Enid Blyton..._

_tmriddle : That's all?_

_Catlady_Ginny : Yeah. I think so._

_tmriddle : When was it? Just recently?_

_Catlady_Ginny : Nope, it's long ago. I think in 3rd or 4th grade. I finished a short story n I showed my dad._

_tmriddle : And his reaction...?_

_Catlady_Ginny : Well, he said that's great of me to be able to write my own story. I guess he's just being kind, he's always like that. I don't think he can even read my handwriting._

_Catlady_Ginny : Ooooh but I remember my mom's reaction!_

_Catlady_Ginny : She's knitting n she said writing's good but I should put my school first! Bcuz she said being a writer doesn't always give u money, so she said I should always make school a priority_

_Catlady_Ginny : She's wrong, I'm gonna show her that I can be famous n rich with my stories!_

_tmriddle : That's a good spirit that you're showing, but you're going to need more if you really want to make it come true._

_tmriddle : Correct me if I am mistaken, but I got the impression that your father was much easier to talk to than your mother...?_

_Catlady_Ginny : oh yes he is a very relaxed person. I mean, when Mom is mad at us, he's always the one who calmed her down. Saying things like 'Molly that's too much... the kids r trying...'_

_Catlady_Ginny : I wish he's not that busy. I want to spend more time w him._

_tmriddle : :) where does he work?_

_Catlady_Ginny : He's d head of the local post office._

_tmriddle : Alright then. Well, Ginny, since I had an impression that he's a much easier person to talk to, then I think it will be wise for you to make him as your ally._

_Catlady_Ginny : My ally?_

_tmriddle : Yes. I suggest you to try to talk to your mother about your dreams. About what you aspire to be. You don't need yet to point out how it differs from her plan ... Just be subtle with it._

_tmriddle : But before you do that, you need to have a back up. In form of your father's support. So that if, just in case, your mother went mad at you, your father can help you by giving a support._

_tmriddle : I am not a father but I believe they will never say no to their princesses' wish :)_

Ginny's eyes widened at the appearance of an information about Tom's personal life. Now that is something. She can find out more about him from this.

_Catlady_Ginny : Well that makes sense..._

_Catlady_Ginny : I think I'm gonna try it. Thank you, Tom :)_

_tmriddle: You're welcome :) I hope I do not sound as if I'm acting as an adult, telling you what to do._

_Catlady_Ginny : Oh no, Tom, not at all! It's a good advice n I like the way you told me abt it!_

_Catlady_Ginny : U explained it well, like step by step. I like it when people explain things like that_

_Catlady_Ginny : U remind me of Bill, Tom :') he's also very kind n caring. I wish he's here._

_tmriddle : Thanks. I never thought that it feels nice and warm to take care of a little sister. Never had any._

_Catlady_Ginny : r u also the youngest child?_

_tmriddle : An only child, to be precise._

Another interesting piece of information.

_Catlady_Ginny : So u have no siblings? Just you n your parents? How's it like?_

_tmriddle: Honestly, never even met my parents. I was raised in an orphanage._

_Catlady_Ginny: OMG_

_Catlady_Ginny: :(((_

_Catlady_Ginny: Im sorry. What happened 2 ur parents?_

He replied with nothing but a smiling emoji. Stopping for a moment, Ginny had a feeling that it is best not to pursue this now. Maybe she better ask other questions.

_Catlady_Ginny: Ok. Do u ever feel lonely?_

_tmriddle : No, not lonely at all._

_tmriddle : If I ever get lonely I can just go online and talk to you, little friend ;)_

Ginny's face was so red that it matched the colour of her hair.

_Catlady_Ginny : I'm blushing here!_

_tmriddle : Why?_

_Catlady_Ginny : Tom u r so sweet!_

_Catlady_Ginny : I wish u r really my brother_

_tmriddle : Then adopt me as your brother_

Ginny's laughter started to burst at this idea.

_Catlady_Ginny : My family can't afford another child, Tom_

_tmriddle : How many of you, I wonder?_

_Catlady_Ginny : 9. Molly n Arthur plus 7. We can start our own reality show._

_tmriddle : !_

_tmriddle : That's ... A very big group of children. Phew._

_Catlady_Ginny : I know..._

When Ginny was just finished writing a reply, a loud thud –which sounds very much like a cupboard crashing to the floor- came from the bedroom next to hers, which belonged to Fred and George. It was then followed by a laughter, and Mrs. Weasley's angry scream from below. Ginny took a deep breath.

_Catlady_Ginny : My house's like, really crowded. My bros r always noisy. Running ard, doing crazy things._

_Catlady_Ginny : Funny, I often get lonely. What do u call it? A paradox?_

_tmriddle : Yes, a paradox._

_tmriddle : Well, don't be, little friend. You have me :)_

_tmriddle : If you want to, I can be your brother. Not a biological brother. More of a soul brother._

_Catlady_Ginny : Tom :'(_

_tmriddle : Don't be sad :) I am here._

That was the second time Ginny cried within one night.

[ _break_ ]

Teenage girls, aren't they just plain annoying?

Underneath the amicable surface of cheerful laughter and inviting youthfulness, they were these crazy little imps ready to invade and drain the life out of you, with their maddening volatility.

Ginny was definitely not an exception, Tom Riddle concluded, as he stared into the computer screen late at night in his office. 

When he first invited her for a chat, he never thought that she was going to be quite a handful like this. Constant flood of grammatically incorrect sentences, the overdramatic reaction to simple problems. If it was not for his exceptional self-control and the amount of workload that he had to do, Tom was certain that he was going to fall asleep in sitting position.

However, as he leaned backward to stretch his back, he found that she could also be very entertaining. Oh, forget that mindless mistype, there were far more interesting traits that keep him attracted to her. Her innocence, for instance. The fact that she believed in the 'soul brother' idea wholeheartedly.

Well, the thing is, Tom hates innocence.

Innocent children drive him crazy. They disgusted him. Whenever he saw them, his brain would start sending thumping signal throughout his system, filling him with indescribable anger. Years ago, when he was just a young boy, this flood of maddening hatred had led him into his first murder attempt.

And yes, he felt this blinding fury whenever he saw anything that emphasise Ginny's innocence. She really does not know how the world works; she thought everything was going to work according to what her story books tell her. It was certain that her father is not going to be brave enough to support his little princess' dreams –please, the old man was clearly not a king in his own household, with a domineering old wife like that.

Tom closed his eyes to dive deeper into this rush of emotion.

He felt like destroying her. Yes, really. He wished that right now, as Ginny brushed her hair to prepare herself to sleep, he could sneaked into her bedroom –bet the bed sheet was pink. He was thinking of strangling her, hitting her head with his fist, or perhaps something stronger like a hammer. He would even deflower her on her own bed, with her stuffed animals as dumb witnesses, before happily watching her skin turn purplish. As life drained out of her young body.

But he decided that he is not going to finish her just yet. At least not now.

For there is another trait that she is embedded with, and that is her courage.

Completely unstoppable once she has set her heart into something. If he can get into her mind, and made her do his bidding ... That would be interesting.

Which is why Tom, despite his tight schedule, always managed to find some time to say hello to Ginny the Catlady. He still had no idea on how he was going to do it, but he knew someday he will get to use the innocent aspiring writer to his advantage.

All he had to do was to lure her closer into his world.

A message appeared on his Messenger, preventing him from continuing his musing.

_Catlady_Ginny : Goin to bed now! :D_

_Catlady_Ginny : Good night, dear brother :) sleep tight!_

_tmriddle : LOL. Actually, I am still at the office right now. Got things to do :)_

_Catlady_Ginny : WHAT!_

_tmriddle : Well, that's how working life is :) Have a nice sleep, little friend._

_Catlady_Ginny : Ah, OK. Good night, Tom. Please remember to take a break whenever you feel tired :(_

_tmriddle : Will do._

He then closed the window and took a deep breath.

_That's another difference between us, baby Ginny_ , he thought. _While you were already with your Teddy Bear, I'm still in front of my Mac_.

He then fixed his sitting position and prepared himself to work again.

Oh, anyway, he had a new desk. It was in the same room as his old one; after all, there were only two persons in the spokesperson office. But his desk was the biggest one in the room, placed exactly at the middle, facing the polished, wooden door. He no longer needed to sit right beside the door, having to be disturbed by people going in and out. It was also more spacious here; he does not need to sit so close to a filing cabinet.

The workload had doubled and overtime had become a daily routine, but Tom felt very fulfilled and satisfied with it. Because he understood that in order to make it to the top, apart from working harder than his peers, one should be willing to step on a few toes. Or even better: Push somebody down from the ladder. Just like what he did to Grindelwald and his son.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come in," Tom said.

The door opened and an old man walked in, carrying a tray with two tea cups on it. Tom recognized him as the caretaker who had been working here for years, making tea and cleaning up the desks at the office. He wondered why the ministry was keeping someone as old as he was; perhaps it has something to do with loyalty, efficiency, or pity. 

"Your drink, sir...," said the old man, putting a cup of tea on the corner of the desk. His thin hand slightly trembled by the effort.

Tom just stared at the cup of tea. Then he cleared his throat. "Ah ... Excuse me."

"Yes, sir."

"What did I ask you for my drink tonight?"

"Black tea, sir ... Strong, with no sugar."

"Excellent ...," said Tom. "Now let me ask you one more question. Did I ask for a cup of weak tea?"

The old man batted his eyes. "Well, no, sir."

"Then why do you give me one?"

There was an eerie silence in the air as Tom stared unblinkingly to the old man, whose frail body began to shake.

"Well!?" Tom pressed on, his tone hardened. The old man lost all his words, not knowing how to respond.

"This surely cannot belong to anyone else, right, as there are only Fudge and I at this hour," he continued, peeking into the tray that the old man was carrying. "And yes, that white one surely belongs to him ..."

Tom leaned in. "So why did you give me a weak tea?"

The old man bowed down his head.

"Very well," Tom said, getting up from his chair. He took the cup and threw its content to a pot of plant nearby.

"Make me a new one," he muttered, putting the now empty cup back into the tray.

 

 

 


	6. Living Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of a beloved.

**Living Portrait**

Tom announced that he was going to New York City for a week.

Ginny was hysterical.

As soon as the announcement was made on her Messenger, Ginny immediately flooded Tom's computer screen with tons of crying emojis (About 30 of them, she recalled in retrospect), begging him not to go and leave her alone. Because her mother was becoming harder on her everyday, and she just did not know how to face it without Tom's advice or companion.

She would only stop crying and begging when Tom explained to her that he will only be gone for a week, for a very important business trip. He also added that unlike the deep forest of Amazon, New York City has a very decent internet connection. The only thing that would prevent them from talking regularly is his busy schedule; he had warned her that he might only be able to reply late at night before he goes to bed, as he would be occupied even during lunchtime.

Ginny sent out guilty laughter after the explanation, and apologised for reacting recklessly to his announcement ("I thought you're leaving for good!"). In his office, Tom felt like slamming his head into his shiny new desk upon seeing her latest message.

This is the very reason why she was even more inseparable from her laptop and her phone in the past week.

Usually they would talk during the afternoon, in the middle of school or work hours, sending out casual 'hello' or updating about their activities for the day (As expected, Ginny was the one with the more elaborate details). Then they would proceed talking again at night, with Ginny struggling to remain awake as it had passed her usual bedtime.

Percy once caught her being wide awake at 01.15AM, still glued to her phone. Since then, she would be very careful on keeping the lights off whenever they had their evening talks; she would even type under her blanket.

Black circles started to appear under her eyes. At school, she was so sleepy that McGonagall once sent her to the toilet to wash her face. She was also performing badly on her part-time job in the fish-and-chips shop; she kept on forgetting orders or delivering them to the wrong tables. Do not ask me what her mother thought about it.

Her writings and Tom were the only things that matter in her mind now. The worst part was that, even though she still managed to survive her days and keep her results steady, she knew that she could crash and burn anytime soon, both academically and personally. However, the tough-hearted girl insisted that she will be just fine, as she believed that the intensity of their talk will be lessened during his trip to New York City. They would only talk at night, and it would be a very short conversation.

Once he had arrived in New York City, Tom would often send her nothing but pictures: Of the JFK Airport, the busy street of Manhattan, and the inside of the UN General Assembly. The last picture was such a huge surprise for Ginny; how he managed to get in was a mystery for her, and of course he would not say anything about it.

Oh, if only keeping her mind away from him was really that easy. Because, even as we speak, Ginny was sitting on the floor in a corner of the school library, well-hidden behind a bookshelf. She chose to sit near an electric socket, as she was using her laptop on her lap.

The girl had deliberately escaped from Mr. Binns' lethargic History class to have a chat with Tom, who was having a very rare two-hour break from his unbelievably tight schedule. She just could not let this opportunity passed.

According to him, he was now sitting on a bench at Central Park, enjoying a nice hot dog with onions and cheese. Before that, the gentleman had sent pictures of tall building appearing between sea of trees, and the hot dog as it was being prepared. The last picture he sent was a close-up of a black horse, staring peacefully into the camera.

_tmriddle : If you were here, I'm going to take you around the city on this horse carriage._

Ginny blushed and almost turned into an apple at this invitation. Then she suddenly had a brilliant idea.

_Catlady_Ginny : Y don't u take a pic of yourself? U know, to prove that u r really there at Central Park._

She was still curious, of course, about who is behind all this brilliance and warmth of a man. Though she knew that he would most likely reject her request, as usual, there was nothing wrong in ...

_tmriddle : Sure._

Ginny almost threw her laptop to the bookshelves. 

The moment had finally arrived! Days when she would lay awake on her bed at night, trying to imagine how Tom Riddle might actually look like ... These days are finally over, and now she can finally know for sure whom she had been talking to.

The girl held breath as an image file appeared on her screen. She clicked the image and took a deep, sharp breath as it began to load ...

It was a picture of a gentleman's legs.

The picture was taken from above, possibly with a phone camera. The gentleman was sitting on a typical park bench, a gravel path was visible beneath his patent leather shoes. He was sitting cross-legged, and there was a piece of half-eaten hot dog wrapped in tinfoil on his lap. He was wearing a dark grey trousers and a long coat with a darker shade of grey. A can of Coca-cola was beside him.

Ginny was furious.

_Catlady_Ginny : TOM! Y r u sending me a pic of ur legs!_

_tmriddle : Because you said you wanted a picture of myself._

_tmriddle : My legs are part of myself._

If Tom was near her, then Ginny would surely have batted his arm in a very comic-like manner.

_Catlady_Ginny : I meant ur face... I wanna see ur face X(_

_tmriddle : Then I am afraid you have to wait a little longer._

_Catlady_Ginny : Y? Y u don't want me to see ur face? :(_

_tmriddle : Not that I do not want to. It is just not the time yet._

_tmriddle : All in good time, little friend. As I always say._

Just before Ginny managed to sound her disappointment, she heard footsteps approaching her direction. Feeling panic, she looked up to find out where the sounds came from.

And found Harry standing in front of her.

"Oh ... Hello," said Harry. "What are you doing there?"

Ginny hastily closed her laptop. "N-nothing ... J-just ... Just browsing."

Harry lifted his eyebrow, not looking very convinced. "You skipped class, didn't you?"

There was no point of lying at this point. "Well, yes."

She made an awkward smile, which immediately turned into a panic. "But please don't tell ...!"

"Calm down ...," said Harry, turning to face the bookshelves. "There's nothing in it for me." 

"Phew! Thanks," Ginny muttered. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"

Harry picked up a book and checked out its content. "I got a football match tomorrow, so I have to skip class. Lupin has been kind enough to let me take this test in advance."

That explains the piece of paper and the pen in his hand.

Ginny smirked. "I bet your godfather is behind this."

"Of course ... That's the point of having a vast network, isn't it?"

Harry lived with his godfather Sirius Black, a vintage motorbike collector and CEO of Black Dog Records. In the past, he had been the guitarist and lead singer of Brit-rock band The Marauders, whom Harry's father James and English teacher Lupin were also part of. They had a fan-turned-manager named Peter, but unfortunately, the man ended up running away with all their money, an incident that eventually led to the band's dismissal.

Following the break-up, James, who had always been the activist type, married his long-time girlfriend Lily. Together they worked at an international aid agency, travelling and saving the world while raising their only child Harry. James had forever given up the drum at this point. Lupin focussed his time on becoming a teacher, but would occasionally go on stage and pick up the bass again. Including at several school events, where his students would stare in disbelief at their teacher playing rock songs. While Sirius, after years of singing in bars and playing guitars for other artists, finally managed to gather enough money to set up his own company.

As for Peter, nobody really knew what happened to him. His name was basically forbidden to be mentioned at the Black household.

Harry himself had only gotten to live with his parents until he was about one or two years old. During one of their business trips, James and Lily were kidnapped and shot by terrorist group in Somalia.

Ginny still found it hard to comprehend how the young man was able to deal with such great tragedy at such a young age. She was too young to remember it, but Charlie once told her that Harry's parents' death was all over the news back then.

"So, Ginny ...," Harry muttered, checking out some more titles on the bookshelf. "Can you please help me with this? English is your best subject, right?"

Ginny was taken aback by the question. "Oh ... I guess so?"

"Well, Lupin told me to review a poem. But there's so many of them. I don't know where to start." Harry gestured at the bookshelf.

Ginny moved closer to the bookshelf. "Okay. So, what do you like to read?"

"Comic books," he snorted. "And football news."

Ginny rolled her eyes, and they both laughed together. This was the first time they talk to each other since that small incident, when Harry failed to recognise her because of his glasses. Things had been quite tense between them since then, but now that they were able to laugh together, Ginny felt a huge sense of relief.

She did not think she could be angry at him after that.

Minutes later, they can be found sitting opposite each other in one of the long desks in the library. Ginny had picked a selection of Rudyard Kipling poems for Harry, which he happily accepted. The boy thought 'If-' was the easiest to understand and he liked the message that it sends, so he decided to use it for his test.

After writing down the first paragraph, Harry's bright green eyes looked up, trying to steal a glance at Ginny's direction, who was busy typing with a cheerful smile on her face. "Are you ... Um ... Working on a new story?"

The red-haired girl stopped short. Somehow, she found it hard to answer this question. "Yes. Yes, a new story."

"Nice," Harry muttered.

Ginny gave away an awkward smile before returning to her laptop, trying to contain her excitement after reading about Tom's return to London in the day after tomorrow.

"You look very busy these days," Harry said, out of the blue.

"Pardon?"

 

 

 

"Yeah, I mean ...," Harry replied, twirling his pen, struggling to find the right words. "You seem to spend more time with your laptop ... But of course it's because you're writing a story, right?"

He let out a forced laugh. Ginny got the impression that he added the last sentence hastily, but she did not think it was anything out of the ordinary. The boy was often a bit awkward like that.

"Excuse me, I've to go to the toilet," Ginny said, closing her laptop. "You're not going anywhere, right? Please watch my laptop."

"Yeah, sure, no worries."

Harry's sight then followed Ginny as she walked away from the desk. She passed along bookshelves, disappeared, appeared again ... Until she made it to the door and walked out of it.

Harry returned to his test, but his mind was clearly not on Kipling's poem. Putting down his pen, he sighed heavily and closed his eyes. Slowly he got up, casting a silent prayer ("Lord, please forgive me!"), and walked to the direction of Ginny's laptop. With extra care, he opened the laptop, and pulled out a chair to sit on.

Lucky for him that Ginny thought using a password to protect her laptop is a bit too inconvenient.

[ _break_ ]

Later that afternoon, Ron could be seen standing in front of the family's fish-and-chips shop while a lorry was moving backward, slowly and hesitantly towards his direction. He was waving his hands, giving directions to the driver ("Alright, alright ... Turn right, turn right! Alright, stop ... Stop ... STOP, WILL YOU!"), and luckily he managed to hit brake just before the lorry turned Ron into a pancake.

After yelling brief profanities towards the driver, he jumped into the lorry, unloaded its content, and walked back into the shop with boxes of eggs and flour.

Inside the shop, Mrs. Weasley was busy giving orders to her sons about where to unpack and put the groceries, which was meant to supply her shop. While her brothers are busy carrying boxes, Ginny was to sit at one of the tables, doing accounting works –the new routine that her mother had assigned to her, in order to prepare her to run the shop someday.

Ron could not help noticing the stark contrast between their tasks.

"What are you doing?" he asked, peering into her works while carrying a box of butter. A disgusted look appeared on his face when he saw the balance sheets she had been working on.

"Accounting stuff. Mom told me to learn it," Ginny answered, struggling to use Percy's scientific calculator.

"Don't you get these stuff in school already?"

"Well ... Mom thinks I need extra lesson," Ginny replied, writing down numbers in a column. "Because she said I need to understand more to be able to run this shop someday."

"Run this shop?" Ron looked quite surprised.

"Yeah," Ginny answered, still not looking at her brother. "She said she want me to own this shop someday. So be it."

Ron looked as if he was going to say something, but then he went quiet. The boy pursed his lips and there was this displeased look on his eyes. "She handed it to you, eh."

When he walked away to continue his work, his ears seemed very red.

Ginny was not too happy either.

Since weeks ago, she had been trying to implement Tom's advice of persuading her parents to let her follow her dreams –and hopefully, give up this useless accounting lesson. His advice required her to talk to her father first, before she could talk to mother.

That is where the problem is: Her father had been busier than usual. He would came home after seven o'clock, when Ginny was working in the shop. After that, she often rushed upstairs to find him snoring on his favourite sofa in the living room, still in his working attire. Ginny had to take off his shoes and try to wake him up without surprising him too much.

Even if he was awake, lately he would just smiled at her weakly, looking too tired to think of anything difficult. 

It was not that he does not care about his only daughter. In fact, he always tried to ask her about her day; what she has been doing, any problems that she would like to share. This was not something he does regularly to his sons. But Ginny just did not have the heart to burden him even more, seeing how exhausted he had been.

Yesterday, as if things cannot get any worse than this, her father caught a really bad cough and had to stay at home throughout the day. If she could not bear to talk about her problems when he was healthier, then there was just no way that she would barge in into his bedroom and do it now.

 _So much rubbish_ , Ginny thought when the shop's door opened and Hermione Granger walked in with a cheerful air around her.

Ginny's face lit up a bit. "Come sit with me!" she yelled, tapping the chair next to her.

"What's up?" Hermione asked, putting down the books she was carrying on the table. She then took off her shawl and fold it on top of them. "Is that homework or something?"

"Yes, from my Mom," Ginny answered, while Hermione sat beside her and peeked into her balance sheets.

"Balance sheets, indeed," Hermione muttered.

Ginny sighed, picking up the calculator. But before she could finish typing the number, Hermione pointed at a column and said, "That's two-hundred and eighty pound."

Ginny turned her head into her direction. "Really?"

"Yes, seriously," Hermione answered. "And that one is seventy-six pound, not seventy-seven ...."

Hermione continued to point out her calculation to assist Ginny with the sheets, and she almost fainted when the studious girl said, "Wow, this is getting interesting!"

"Are you kidding me!"

"No, I don't! Seriously, numbers are fun," Hermione answered, earning a disgusted look from Ginny. "They're just like puzzles, you know ... Give it to me! Let me do that!"

Ginny happily shoved her works away to Hermione's direction, feeling relieved beyond compare. She leaned on her chair while taking a deep, sharp breath. Her gaze then fell into the pile of books Hermione was carrying.

In between school books and a binder to do her homework in, Ginny found something that was pink and glossy. She picked it up and recognised it as one of the most popular female magazine in the country, with a picture of famous singer Celestina Warbeck on the cover.

Ginny had to struggle to contain her laughter. "I didn't know you read this as well!"

"Oh, that ...," Hermione replied, pink blushes started to appear on her cheek. "Well, I'm just like any other girls, you know ... Just because I'm more serious in ..."

To be honest Ginny was not too interested in Hermione's explanation, now that she had found something more interesting to play with. She opened the first page of the magazine, looking at an advertisement of a perfume.

That was when she realised that Hermione had put a bookmark in the middle of the magazine. Fascinated by her brother's best friend's obsessive-compulsive tendency, she opened the page to check out what was in there.

"Oh, that part ...," Hermione muttered, suddenly looking like a steamed lobster. "Well, that's ..."

Ginny spread out the magazine on the table and found herself staring at a picture of one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen in her life.

The headline of the page stated "20 Most Eligible Bachelors Running Our Government" and the blurb described the article as a list of the most good-looking and high-achieving young (male) politician to exist in Britain today. Coming up on number one was a gentleman in his early thirties; he was pictured leaning on a desk in an office with his arms crossed, wearing a dark business suit. He looked very serious, but it did not diminish his unbelievable good look. In fact, it only seemed to enhance it.

Ginny brought the magazine closer to inspect him more closely. The man had wavy, jet-black short hair and a pale complexion, which seemed to match perfectly with his sharp, dark eyes ... My God. Those eyes. Ginny found herself struggling to turn away from them, and she was thankful that this man was staring back at her from a magazine. "Her-mi-o-ne. This man, he's ... Bloody hot!"

Unprecedentedly, Hermione started to giggle. "I know, right? And he's really amazing, you should read his profile!"

"Ah ... who's he?" Ginny asked, turning her attention into the article. But Hermione decided that she would tell her everything herself.

"Okay, so he's the junior spokesperson for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, but recently he had taken over his superior's job when he passed away," Hermione began. The balance sheets were completely forgotten. "He went to Eton on a scholarship, had an LLM from Cambridge ... And as if it wasn't enough, he speaks four languages, including Latin, and was a World's University Debate champion!"

She looked like she was running out of breath. "Oh, I knew that debaters will always end up doing amazing things!"

"But is he single, though?" Ginny asked, searching for any information on the man's marital status. "If he's married then it's all useless!"

"It's a bachelor list, Ginny, of course he's single!"

"There's hope for us!"

Both girls squealed madly until Mrs.Weasley showed up and coughed at them. Feeling ashamed, Ginny was forced to return to the balance sheets and Hermione suddenly felt an urge to go to the toilet.

When Ginny began using the calculator again, she knew that something was amiss. But she could not remember exactly what it was.

[ _break_ ]

Ginny laid awake on her bed. The room was dark, and she was already under her blanket, comfortable in her favourite pyjama. Her collection of Pygmy Puff dolls was scattered around her body; that way, she believes that they will protect her against evil power during her sleep.

There was no Tom on her Messenger today, so she could finally go to bed early and catch up with her sleep, which had been few and far between. All her homework were done, she had also finished her tasks at the shop. She had already put her dirty laundry in the washing machine, and yes, she had also brushed her teeth. Even she had called Ms. Hooch, the lacrosse team coach, about the practice that is going to be cancelled on Thursday.

So why did she feel as if she had forgotten something?

It had been like this ever since she had that conversation with Hermione about the hot bloke in the magazine. As if a little child was tugging her skirt, trying to get her attention, but when she looked down, she just could not find that little child. It felt really weird and disturbing, and Ginny just could not wait to get rid of this feeling.

She twisted and turned on her bed until she finally gave up, turned on her bedside lamp, and sat up straight.

"Okay ... It's something to do with Hermione," she muttered. "Did she leave anything behind? No, no ... I'd have seen it immediately."

She kept on thinking, her fingers making a counting gestures.

Until suddenly something rose on her mind.

 _No way_. She blinked furiously, rubbing her cheek like mad. _Seriously ... this is unreal!_

She looked around her room in confusion, and picked up her smartphone. She was just going to dial Hermione's number, until it dawned on her that the girl would probably be asleep. Or was still busy studying.

Ginny then decided to leave her bed and walked out of her room, with her Pygmy Puff collections all falling to the floor.

[ _break_ ]

"Pardon?"

Percy Weasley was sitting on the floor, facing the coffee table in the middle of the living room. He was just going to sip a cup of coffee, and there were school textbooks and notes scattered around his new laptop. The teen was doing his late night study session, and since he shared bedroom with Ron, who was fast asleep already, he had to move here to proceed this noble task.

"Percy, please, answer me ... What's an LLM?"

"An LLM?"

"Yes, I think it's an academic degree or something ...," Ginny answered. "Do you know what is it? I mean, what kind of degree is it?"

Percy put down his cup. "Oh, that. Well, that's easy," he answered. "It's a Master's degree."

"In what field?"

"Law."

Ginny's eyes widened. She looked a bit like a fish that way. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

Ginny took a deep breath. Panic started to surface in her, and it did not go unnoticed by Percy. "What's the matter?"

"Percy! Another question," Ginny hastily added, moving to sit right beside her brother. "If a person is a spokesperson for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. What exactly is he doing?"

Percy fixed the position of his glasses. She got an impression as if this was going to be a harder question to answer.

"Well ... Basically their job is to communicate the country's policies in international relations ..."

"Does the job involve writing?"

Percy looked as if he was thinking. "Well, yes, I imagine. Because they have to work with the press, then perhaps they should write public statement, and things like that."

Ginny looked as if she was going to faint.

[ _break_ ]

Tom was beyond relieved to be able to tick New York City off his to-do list.

Gone all the days of sleepless nights and grueling meetings with ambassadors of foreign countries. He was finally free to do whatever he wants, at least for this one glorious Saturday. Apart from that, he had also proven his worth on his first assignment as Mr. Grindelwald's replacement, as Prime Minister Dippet's speech received a warm applause and welcome from fellow delegates of the assembly. So everything was sailing smoothly in his ocean of ambition. He was proud of himself.

It is indeed always good to be home; but it is also better to spend your weekend relaxing in a four-star hotel, indulging in its facilities and being free from having to worry about cooking your own dinner. This explains why, instead of being in his flat, Tom could be seen lying on a sofa in a fragrant, luxurious hotel room, with his iPad in his hand.

He was wearing a white bathrobe, courtesy of the hotel, and there was a glass of red wine on a coffee table nearby. Lying comfortably on the sofa, with his legs lifted, his attention shifted between an e-book that he was reading (Patrick Suskind's _Perfume_ ) and the messenger app.

_BUZZ!_

_Catlady_Ginny : Tom!_

_Catlady_Ginny : I know u r there! Please, answer me!_

_BUZZ!_

_tmriddle : Yes, princess._

_Catlady_Ginny : Tom! OMG I dunno how to say this... But there's stg that I really need to ask u!_

_tmriddle : Be my guest._

_Catlady_Ginny : But please, be honest! Give me the REAL answer_

_Catlady_Ginny : This is very, very important for me._

Tom was typing mindlessly when he gave her a positive reply. His sight then wandered into a woman walking out of the bathroom. But before he managed to get a clearer look of her figure, a new message came in and he just could not put his mind away from it.

_Catlady_Ginny : Alright. Tom, please answer this._

_Catlady_Ginny : Marvolo. Does this name mean anything to you?_

Tom took a deep breath. Oh, of course, that silly female magazine interview he had agreed for just to keep the reporter from calling him five times a day. And he knew that the little girl would find out about his true identity this way, if she has enough mental capacity to do so –which she turned out to have.

But he never thought it would happen quite so soon. Besides, how did she find the article? The magazine was not something secondary school girls would read. Perhaps her eagerness was finally being matched with her luck.

Ginny the Catlady is indeed a very interesting girl.

_tmriddle : The name means a lot to me, little friend._

_tmriddle : I never got to meet my mother. She passed away only moments after my birth. But according to the people at the orphanage, she lived long enough to give me my full name._

_tmriddle : "Tom" after my father. "Marvolo" after my grandfather. And Riddle, of course, is the surname._

There was a long pause before Catlady_Ginny was ever going to reply. While he was waiting for an answer, a woman in black satin kimono suddenly appeared, and stood up right behind where Tom's head was. She bent down; her long, black, shiny hair covered up the side of her face, and soon a white hand, with deep red finger nails, began to move along his cheek.

She traced the structure of his face with the skill of an expert, hand moving slowly and seductively. She seemed to enjoy the feeling of his pale skin very much; when her thumb accidentally brushed his lips, and welcomed by the soft lick of his tongue, she let out a deep moan of pleasure. Her fingers continued to played along his strong jawline, feeling the freshly shaven skin.

Tom closed his eyes, enjoying the woman's touch. As she moved, he was able to sense a heavy perfume; it reminds him of the scent of the red wine he was just having.

When he opened his eyes, the woman had already laid her head on his shoulder, sitting on the floor right beside the sofa. Realising that he was aware of her presence, she stared at him with her heavy-lidded eyes. She then gave a slow, mean-looking smile. "You looked busy."

"Because it took you forever just to take off your clothes," Tom answered, looking indifferent. "Maybe I should have asked for a discount or something."

The woman pursed her lips, staring at him with a whiny look on her face. Then she turned her attention into his iPad, looking curiously into the conversation Tom was having in his Messenger.

She covered her mouth in shock when she saw that small avatar depicting a red-haired teenage girl in a grey woolen jumper and red tartan skirt, taking a picture of herself with a phone in front of a mirror. "I didn't know you like teenage girls!"

"Better than old bat like you," Tom answered. He closed the leathery cover of his iPad, which had his full name engraved in gold letters. He then put it on the coffee table, and for the next hours, his mind was completely away from it.

Because he then decided to leave the sofa, and walked to the direction of the king-sized bed in the middle of the room.

The woman's eyes widen with excitement as she witnessed the bathrobe that he was wearing quietly fell to the floor. She bit her lips when she watched his pale back surfacing from beneath the bathrobe; his muscles moved in a very alluring way despite his relatively thin figure.

"About time, Bella."

Giggling, the woman got up and approached Tom, who was standing right next to the bed. She slowly caressed his lower back, and softly kisses his shoulder, before she let her kimono fell to the floor. After a slow, carefully executed crawl to the pillow, she laid there with her legs crossed –according to her experience, the small gesture keeps her clients interested. A satisfied smile grew as he climbed on to her, pulled one of her hands, and tied it into the corner of the bed –without any effort to remain gentle.

Despite his odd, often rough ways, Bellatrix Lestrange never had any client more beautiful than him, and every minute she spent with him never felt like work for her.

It was like enjoying a massive portion of chocolate mud cake; sweet, velvety flavour that melts in her mouth, staining her lips. She cannot stop herself from having more of the cake, even if she knows that her blood sugar level is sky-rocketing at every bite.

This time, her mind was sparked with jealousy though, as the name 'little Ginny' surfaced at least twice during their transaction.

[ _break_ ]

There was a sound of rushing water coming from the toilet cubicle in the middle.

The door swung open, and Ginny walked out of it in her lacrosse uniform, pulling her shorts up in the most unladylike way, that I am sure her mother would scold her if only she was there. Humming to a popular dance song, she stopped right in front of the sink, where her sports bag and lacrosse stick were, and began to observe the way she looked in the mirror.

Long, straight red hair, met with brown eyes. Not bad, but it gave the impression of too much Fire element in her. She wished her eyes were green like Harry's, so that they would not be overshadowed by the 'angry' shade of her hair.

Nevertheless she still adored the colour of her hair. She liked how it seemed to stand out when she was among blondes and brunettes. Somehow it also made her think of Little Red Riding Hood; as a child she always took pride of not having to need a riding hood to look red. She only needed her hair.

But then there were her freckles and her cheek. She really hate them; how her wide, rounded cheeks always make her look fat, how her freckles always seem to colonialised her complexion. She wished the size of her cheeks would change according to her weight –which was in proportion with her height, and that there were other ways to cover her freckles other than using those expensive concealers and foundations. Her mother would not like to see her using them to school, anyway.

When Ginny opened up her bag to pick up her comb, a sobbing noise was heard coming from the third cubicle from the door. She took a moment to turn her head towards that direction. Knowing who it was, she decided not to care and proceed combing her hair.

The sobbing can still be heard when she finished tying her hair in a ponytail. Ginny dropped her comb into her bag, muttering to herself ("Looks great!"). For a few seconds, she just stood there and stare at her reflection.

How there are far more beautiful people other than herself disturbs her sometimes.

So she had found out how Tom is like in real life, and it was just incomprehensible for her –how come anyone be that perfect?

Ginny took out her phone. She had finally bought that magazine –it was under her pillow in her room right now, and she had even taken a picture of the article with her phone. Tom's cold stare now graced the main menu of her phone as a wallpaper, ready to accompany her whenever she was lonely, and the real Tom was not available online.

Now it was clear why Tom would never send her pictures of himself when they were having their online conversation. Because he knew that the article is coming up, and that she would be able to find out about him that way ... He did not want to spoon-feed her. He expected her to find out by herself, with a little bit of luck and an ability to deduce from the facts. He wanted her to stand on her own feet. He understood her wish to become more independent.

Ginny softly touched the picture on her phone, feeling grateful for having him in her life, while the sobbing sound continued to come out of the third cubicle.

Sighing deeply, she put her phone back into her bag, and screamed when she found a pair of pale blue eyes staring back at her from the mirror.

"You scared me!" Ginny turned around and yelled at Luna, who was just standing there as if nothing happened.

"You don't have to," Luna replied, unblinking. "It's not that I'm scary or anything."

She approached one of the sink to wash her hands. Ginny just could not believe her eyes when she saw how calm she is. Not knowing what to say to the blonde girl –who had a lion's tail sewn onto her skirt-- Ginny decided to remain quiet and let her lead the conversation. That is, if she wanted any.

It turned out that she wanted some.

"Who's that in the toilet?" asked Luna, drying her hands on her skirt.

"Oh, you don't know?" Ginny replied. "It's Myrtle. She does that all the time, acting gloomy and all."

The door of the third cubicle then swung open, revealing a girl with a big, thick glasses and dark hair. There were traces of tears on her cheeks, and my, those eyes surely did not look happy.

She continued to stare at Ginny and Luna with her angry eyes, until her fast pace managed to take her out from the restroom.

"That's quite scary," Luna muttered, giving another unblinking stare at the door. "But things will change for her around next month. There'll be happy news."

"Good for her, then," Ginny replied, applying sunblock lotion on her arm.

"You also have to be careful."

"Eh?" Ginny was just going to apply the cream to her other arm when she was stopped short.

"Yes, you. You have to be really careful," Luna said, leaning on a sink. "Danger is coming on your way. You're going to be locked away. And it was because of a man with dark eyes."

This was definitely the craziest thing Ginny ever heard coming from this girl's mouth.

"Wait," Ginny said, her hands were both on her waist. "Are you saying that I'm going to prison, or a mental ward, or something?"

"Well ...," Luna muttered, closing her eyes. "Not sure. But it has a thick, metal door though. Perhaps a prison. But a mental institution also looked like that."

"That's not very nice, is it, these things that you're saying," Ginny replied. She threw her sunblock lotion into her bag, and without any effort to cover up her anger, picked up her bags and lacrosse stick to storm out of the restroom.

If only Ginny knew that Luna once correctly predicted her own mother's death when she was six, then she would not take that warning too lightly.

Besides, the Little Red Riding Hood was the girl who could not tell the difference between her own grandmother and a wolf.

 

 


	7. A Drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (This is actually a bonus chapter. Scenes may not be directly related to main plot. But I hope you like it!)

**A Drabble**

Ginny Weasley crouched in front of the oven under the stove in the kitchen of her family's fish-and-chips shop. Her gaze was intensely focused on the object inside it; she was so serious about it that she did not realise that her sweet, rounded cheeks was smeared with flour. After a few moments, she lifted her hands to adsorb the warmth radiating from inside the oven, as the kitchen can get unbearably cold sometimes in winter.

"It's coming!" she said to herself, giddy with excitement as she watched the stopwatch closing in to zero.

The numbers kept on changing ...

_Tick-tock-tick-tock ..._

Changing ...

_Tick-tock-tick-tock ..._

Until it finally reached zero.

_Ding!_

"Yay!" Ginny screamed happily, throwing invisible confetti around. The girl then hastily grabbed a big fat oven mitt, pulled the oven's door open, and backed away as heat evaporated from the burning walls of the oven. With extra care, she pulled out the tray out of the oven, and with a series of "Ouch, ouch", she put them on the table.

She was making chocolate fairy cakes.

It was her fifth attempt on making the popular delicacies. After what seemed to be an endless string of failures –one of them involved making George felt so sick that he had to run to the bathroom and made some horrible noises- she could finally say that she had gotten it right, and was deeply grateful to achieve it before her own self-determined deadline.

Because that night was a very special night.

The world had just recently thrown their Christmas party dress away, and was eagerly anticipating the upcoming New Year's Eve party. As she sat on her bedroom's window, Ginny would watch people hurried by in the snow-laden street, wearing bulging, thick overcoats with colorful shawl. It was apparent that they just could not wait to be back at home with their loved ones, despite the fun of year-end shopping and the flurry of snow.

Ginny was only able to witness the dancing colours of the city as it approached the new year from far away, at the safe protection of her warm bedroom. Usually, this would bother her so much. So much that she would throw a tantrum at her father's knees, and would not stop until he picked her up and too her to see the biggest Christmas tree in the city. 

However, as she pressed her freckled nose onto the icy cold window, she knew that for once, she would not mind her lack of direct involvement in the excitement.

For she has a celebration of her own to make. And yes, she did not care if she would be the only person in the world to celebrate this particular day. Call her a hipster, go on. She would continue on put all of her heart into this day.

When she was getting the fairy cakes out of the tray, the kitchen door suddenly opened with a loud bang. "I'm starving! Mom! Do you still have that plum pudding ...," Ron rushed in, still in his frost-covered beanie and a jacket that made him look twice bigger, hurrying around the kitchen to find a pudding that had been nonexistent since Boxing Day.

He stopped at the sight of the fairy cakes. "Oh, wow ..."

Without any second thought, he jumped to grab a piece of the cakes. And found his hand hitting a frying pan.

You can imagine how painful it was.

"DO YOU HAVE TO DO THAT?"

"Do you have to take something that was not yours?" asked Ginny, twirling the frying pan around.

"How would I know!? There's no label or anything!" Ron protested, nursing his painful hand.

"Then you can always ask," Ginny replied coolly, decorating the cakes with castor sugar before leaving to take them to her room.

[ _break_ ]

The price of ambition is fatigue. At least that was the conclusion that Tom Riddle was able to make.

On the night before New Year's Eve, he found himself walking slowly in the parking lot near Downing Street with dark circles under his eyes and fatigue in his steps. He had finally managed to clear his task list --both for this year _and_ next year.

The gentleman never had any problem with working hard before, for he had always been ambitious. His dissatisfaction with life and his distaste for weaknesses had always encouraged him to go beyond what is expected of him, and even what he expected of himself.

But it seemed like his body had its own ideas. Even as a child in the orphanage, and a teenager in the boarding school, the only reason for him to get sick was always due to over-exhaustion. It seemed like the only acceptable excuse to go to infirmary. Anything else was just a sign of character flaw for him.

When he opened the door of his car, Tom actually wondered if driving home was really a good idea today. Perhaps he should consider hailing a cab ... But no. He hated the idea of leaving his precious belongings in places other than home, even if it was somewhere as familiar as his own workplace.

So he proceeded getting into his car with thoughts of his bed, the novel he had been reading, and perhaps a glass of wine. Soon after he had thrown his leather bag and his shawl into the passenger seat, the engine roared to life and off he went into a night of colours and lights.

That was never his.

Five minutes after leaving the heavily guarded area, Tom greeted the first traffic jam of the night. Sighing, he mindlessly turned his attention into the side of the street, where a group of teenagers were gathering. 

They could not possibly be older than eighteen and were obviously drunk. Singing, dancing, laughing. One of them was hugging a telephone booth as if it was his girlfriend.

Tom smirked, slightly reminded of his own youth.

He had never had any close friend, but he was always part of a group, back then in school and university. His crowd was the ambitious type --very much like himself. The only thing that his friends had, that he was lacking of, was the privilege provided by money. But he was able to compensate that by being the best among them --the smartest, the most admired, and even the most trusted. He was certain that his peer respected and even feared him for that, and it had been the capital that he relied building his empire on.

And then there was that lady, Helena Ravenclaw. Having a girlfriend just seemed to be something that people of his age were doing; despite his inability to grasp the whole idea of love, he decided to go with it anyway. It definitely put him in a certain social standing, as she was smart, pretty, and from a respectable family of academicians. She definitely made him look good in his peers' eyes. And the sex was not bad at all.

As his youth passed, Tom realised that there was nothing left behind but his ambitions. His eyes were forever glued to the prize, and his feet would willfully step on landmine just to keep himself ahead. 

He had always lived like this --and this scared Helena. The lady had seen a side of him that she never knew existed, and she was honestly afraid of what she saw.

Her fears had annoyed him so much that he decided the only place a cowardly person like her belong in, was underneath the oak tree in the garden of her dormitory. With the worms and God-knows-what creatures.

Nobody had ever heard of her again after that.

It was a harsh but necessary decision. It was a lonely path but he never felt burdened by it ...

_Ping._

A message came in when Tom was deep into his own musings. Cursing himself for forgetting to turn it off, he picked it up and was going to get rid of it when he noticed the incoming message.

"A video!" he yelled. "Stupid, bloody teenager..."

But he clicked 'accept' anyway. And found Ginny the Catlady's face staring back at him. She was grinning widely at what seemed to be a webcam on a laptop.

_Hello Tom!_

There she goes, chirping with her high-pitch voice.

_Um ... I know you once told me that you don't want to do a video call with me ... But I thought you wouldn't mind receiving this video, since, well, it's a one way communication and yes, you don't need to reply with a video if you don't feel like it ..._

She went quiet for a while. Then, she took a deep breath and began talking again.

_It's too early, I know. We still have, um... Twenty? Fifteen minutes? What time is it now? Oh, well ... Never mind, I'd rather be early than late ..._

By the time, Tom had been too busy paying attention to the road in front of him, but his ears were able to caught the next thing she said.

_Um ... Happy birthday, Tom ..._

Luckily he was soon met with another traffic jam. He immediately picked his phone, to find an image of the red-haired girl singing a happy birthday song for him. And there were fairy cakes, right in front of her. With candles and even a cone hat on her head. Her desk was full of fairy cakes!

"Ginny, what is this ...," he muttered. 

_Alright! Have a great year ahead, Tom! I'm so thankful for the day my best friend was born ... Since you're not here to celebrate with me ... And I think you're busy, even though you're online ... So I'm going to blow all the candles for you!_

She really did that.

_Done! And yeah, I think I'm gonna have to finish them myself ... I'm sure my brothers wouldn't mind helping, though!_

The teenage girl laughed with her amicable voice, ringing like music.

Tom felt disgusted. The cheery laughter. The singing. The fairy cakes. Fairy cakes!

The gentleman started to feel sickened at all these signs of youthful innocence, and her eagerness to please him, to make this moment special. He then punched the steering wheel as blood started to rush into his head ...

However, he would be lying to say that there were no crystals on his eyes when he first heard of the birthday greeting.

Ginny the Catlady annoyed him to no end, but at the same time, he also knew that he just could not get rid of her.

At least for the time being.

 

 

 


	8. Manifesto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He decides to make it real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to share the list of songs that I have been listening to while working on this fic:
> 
> Our House - Madness (This one just made me think of the Weasleys LOL)  
> Lovefool - The Cardigans (Definitely how Ginny feels about Tom)  
> Nights in White Satin - The Moody Blues (Not sure about the lyrics, but the vibe is very Tom)

**Manifesto**

One of the most popular hit songs of indie rock band The Weird Sisters blasted from the old, battered laptop on the desk. Ginny Weasley stood in front of a mirror on the wall, moving her shoulders to the rhythm of the song, watching how her reflection looked like as she does. She pointed her finger to her own reflection, making funny faces. Then picked up a hairbrush and used it as a microphone.

The ginger-haired teenager proceed to go around her room, dancing and jumping, doing a lip-synch with her hairbrush, trying to copy the way the lead singer sings.

Just when she was about to get on her bed and turn it into a stage, a buzzing noise came from the laptop, overlapping with the sound of the music. She quickly ran to see who it was.

_tmriddle : Do you like the theatre?_

Ginny squealed happily, and typed her reply.

_Catlady_Ginny : Errr can't say. Never actually seen one._

_Catlady_Ginny : I mean, I went to this school play once, and it's only bcuz Ron was a tree in one of the scenes_

_Catlady_Ginny : That's not real theatre right_

Tom soon replied a laughing emoji.

_Catlady_Ginny : even as a tree my bro's still lame :P_

_tmriddle : I can imagine :)_

_Catlady_Ginny : HBU? OMG don't tell me that u act as well_

_tmriddle : Nooooo. Haha_

_tmriddle : But I love a good performance. I make a point of seeing a West End performance at least once in two months, or something. We need something to balance with those mindless Hollywood bollocks._

_Catlady_Ginny : But many Hollywood movies r good :(_

_tmriddle : Yes, but nothing beats a live performance on stage. By well-trained actors and qualified directors. Not 'movie stars'._

Ginny continued to move her shoulders around as she waited for Tom to finish his sentence.

_tmriddle : Actually, I have 2 tickets to see the Phantom of the Opera._

Ginny arched her eyebrows.

_Catlady_Ginny : What's that? (she put an icon of a cat here)_

_tmriddle : In my opinion the best love story ever written._

_Catlady_Ginny : WOW :D_

_tmriddle : And I am asking you to come with me to see it._

[ _break_ ]

This is definitely one of the most difficult things to do in life, and soon Ginny regretted agreeing to ask for her mother's permission to go see the theatre with Tom.

Asking for the permission itself is already a work of its own. Let alone telling her mother that she would be going with an older man that she met on the internet. Ginny could imagine her mother's reaction already; she would do something like killing her and serving her meat at the family's restaurant downstairs.

So, she needed to make up a reasonable story. Or if you prefer to put it bluntly: Lies.

At that moment Mrs. Weasley was sitting calmly in her bedroom, listening to music from different time on her comfortable, old bed. She was doing her needlework and had her feet propped up with a pile of blankets. Her mood was relatively okay, but it did not mean that Ginny can just walk in and ask if she can go on a date with Tom.

The thing is, Ginny desperately wanted to go.

She had never seen a theatre show. Soon after Tom asked her to go see Phantom of the Opera, she immediately began browsing for information about the show. The results impressed her; apparently it is one of the best musicals in the world. She had read the summary of the story and listened to some of the songs, and she absolutely loved it.

Ginny also understood that this might be her only chance to attend such events. Watching a West End show, no matter how important it is, would never be in her family's budget plan. But suddenly a good friend offered her to see the show with him --for free. Would you let such opportunity slips away?

Ginny wanted to be a writer. So it is very important for her to broaden her horizon about the existing forms of literature works. And going to the theatre was a very good place to start.

Last but not least, she really, really wanted to meet Tom.

Standing in front of her mother's bedroom, she decided that she will fight tooth and nail to have this opportunity.

_Knock, knock._

"Yes?"

Ginny slowly opened the door. Her mother glanced at her through her reading glasses, which were perched on her nose. "It's you, Ginny. Come on in."

"Hello, Mom," Ginny said, closing the door behind her. "Are you busy now?"

"I am not. Come here! Sit beside me." Mrs. Weasley gestured to the empty space beside her.

The girl then walked towards the bed, taking mental notes of all the positive signs that her mother was showing. Once she made it to the bed, her mother asked her if there was anything that she would like to talk about.

There was a glimpse of warmth and care in her eyes, and Ginny felt a painful stab in her chest as she was about to betray this loving stare. But there is no going back now. "Um ... Mom ... You know that I'm part of this online writers community, right? The website I told you about?"

Her mother nodded, focussing intently on her needlework.

"So ... In this community, apart form posting and reviewing our own writings, we also discuss popular literary works. Like short stories, novels. Even theatre," Ginny continued, barely noticing the increasing speed in her speech.

Mrs. Weasley quit her work and lowered her glasses. With a gulp, her daughter noticed that the warmth in her eyes had vanished. It was being replaced by distrust and concern, and Ginny started to feel uneasy there.

"Well, um ... So ... This community ... We also have offline events every five months," Ginny moved on with her lies. "We are going to meet and discuss about literary, and we'll go see a theatre show at the ... Um ... West End? Yes, West End!"

"Students like you going to see West End shows? Who's buying the ticket?"

Ginny felt as if she was going to fall off the bed at her mother's question. "Oh ... That's the best thing! Not all of us are students! One of the members already worked, and he ...

She! Is being very generous with the community, knowing that most of us were students, and she used her connection to get us tickets ...."

Ginny gave away a nervous smile while Mrs. Weasley's glasses got lower and lower. Phew, that idea actually came in the last minute. She hoped that it does not look to forced. "So ... Yeah. That's it. She got us tickets. And I want to join in. It's this Saturday, by the way."

"What exactly are you going to see?"

"Ah? Oh, _Phantom of the Opera_. You know, the one with the mask and all."

"And who's going to accompany you? You're not going to go by yourself."

_Don't make Percy go with me!!_

"There will be adults as well, Mom. I mean, there'll be the girl who got us tickets ... And like, two university students ... They're mature enough to watch over us, I'm certain...."

Mrs. Weasley put her needlework aside. "Are you sure it's completely free?"

"Y-yes! The tickets are paid already!"

There was another passing silence, which was broken by Mrs. Weasley. "Well, sweetheart. I don't see any reason for me to forbid you, but ... You know I can't let you go by yourself."

Ginny moved her hands frantically, trying to explain further. "B-but ... I'm not going to go by myself, Mom! There'll be at least six other students like me ... One of them actually lived nearby, we're planning to go together!"

There is just no stopping the flood of lies coming from her mouth now.

"And remember I once went to the city by myself to drop that package for Aunt Muriel ... I was ten and I did okay," Ginny added. This part was not a lie, though.

Mrs. Weasley looked like she was lost in thoughts. "I need to talk to your father about this."

"Oh, there's no need to, Mom! I'm sure he will be fine with it!" Ginny added, waving her hands frantically. "I mean, he has been really busy, Mom. I don't want to add more burden. Please. I'll be just fine. Seriously."

Ginny put down her hands on her lap, staring at her mother. She tried to keep a hopeful look while feeling all messed up on the inside.

"Alright," Mrs. Weasley sighed. "But promise me you'll be back before ten."

[ _break_ ]

On Saturday, Ginny actually woke up with a scream.

It seemed like only yesterday she reached out to Tom to tell him that she is going to see the theatre with him, after her struggle to convince her mother that it is perfectly safe for her to go. The big day had finally arrived, and the girl honestly thought that weekend had come sooner than it is supposed to.

After spending half of the day fussing about what to wear, the teenage girl found herself standing in front of the theatre, waiting for her date to show up.

It was very crowded out here. There were groups of adults standing in circle, chatting loudly with each other, and they all yelled in excitement when another one of their friends appeared. There was also a family of four with their two teenage daughters, which seemed to be of Ginny's age. The way they carried themselves gave an impression that it was not the first time they are going to the see a musical.

Meanwhile, Ginny seemed to be the only one who was without a friend or family, standing by herself in the cold winter night.

Underneath her black coat, she was wearing a nice, white dress with matching stockings and black Mary-Jane shoes, the only set of formal wear that she owned. She also carried a little black purse, and there was a plastic red rose pinned on her coat. Her ginger hair was smoothed and styled, yet the wind had begun to ruin a few strands of it.

It was only ten minutes to her appointment with Tom Riddle, yet she already felt nervous enough to change her mind and go home.

Even when she was on the way to the location, she had seriously considered to cancel the appointment for at least twice. No, she could not do this. She was just not ready to meet him. She had walked into the tube when she changed her mind and had to annoy everyone when she tried to get off, as the door was closing in. But once the next train came in, she immediately jumped into it, only to regret her decision when it began to move.

Everything just seemed to be able to go wrong anytime now. Like, what if he did not show up? What if he asked her to pay for the tickets? What if she was being duped and he was not what he had been claiming all along?

"Ginny, you're so stupid. You shouldn't have done this, it's ridiculous," she told herself, pacing up and down. The minutes were closing in and everyone around her seemed to be heading to the door already, ready to claim their seat and watch the show, while she waited for a man who might not be real.

"Why are you so nervous?"

"Bloody hell! Of course I am! I'm about to meet a man that I've never met before, and God knows how he is like in real life," she rambled on. "For all I care, he could be a serial killer."

(How very right she was, but let us not go there for the time being.)

"I just have so many worries in my head now," Ginny proceeded talking to herself. "From serious, big stuff, like, what if he fails to show up and I have to go home in embarrassment, because there is no such thing as 'Tom Riddle' in this world? Then there is also this ... Fear ..."

Ginny bowed down her head, her face turned red with embarrassment. "What if he's not as hot as he seemed in that magazine?"

"The best way to find out is to see him by yourself."

"I know! That's why I need him to show up, right here, right now! Then I will be relieved." The girl stopped pacing around, pointing at the spot right in front of her feet. "I need him to show up, right in front of me ..."

"Then all you need to do is to turn around."

That was when Ginny realised that all this time, she had not been talking to herself.

Her arms and feet suddenly felt loose. Losing all her words, the teenage girl slowly turned to face the source of the smooth-talking baritone voice that had been replying to her musings. She had initially thought the voice to be her own mind, as it felt so close and so familiar to her ...

"I like the fact that you talk to yourself, Ginny the Catlady. It's very amusing." Tom Riddle gave away his infamous smirk at the ginger-haired girl, who was suddenly struggling to hide the tears in the corner of her eyes.

"Oh ... Ah ..."

Chuckling to himself at the sight of the tears, the man then handed a single pink rose to the star-stricken girl. "A gift for the lady."

" ..."

"And ... We don't want to be late, so maybe we just talk inside?" He gestured at the door.

"Ah. Okay."

With a smile, Tom then offered his arm for her to hold while they walked.

With the rose and her purse in one hand, and her other hand clutching his arm as if her life depended on it, Ginny suddenly forgot everything about her worries --and that disturbing idea that Tom might just be a serial killer.

[ _break_ ]

Ginny picked up the binocular to get a closer look of what happened on stage. Sitting all the way in the balcony, surely her eyes were not fooling her when she thought she saw the shadow of a man inside that mirror?

"It's him," she muttered. "Tom! So, it's really him!"

Agitated, she turned to face her date, who was moving closer to her side to whisper to the ginger-haired girl. "Yes, Ginny?"

For a few seconds, Ginny actually forgot how to breathe as she realised how close he was to her, with his face only a few inches from her shoulders. Then she remembered that she had a question. "Oh ... um, I mean, The Angel of Music was actually Phantom?"

Tom let out a soft laugh. "The only way to find out is to keep watching, Ginny dear."

"Oh, right," Ginny whispered. "Right. I'll see what happened next."

Ginny returned her focus into the stage, where a gigantic mirror was placed exactly in the middle of it. The lead character Christine, clad in this beautiful white dress, was singing in front of the mirror, where the image of Phantom, the mysterious man who always had half of his face covered with a white mask, was seen inside the mirror.

The mirror then cracked open, and Phantom forcefully pulled Christine inside it. The musical notes changed into an angry tone, arousing panic to the atmosphere.

Ginny let out a choked voice. "H-he kidnapped her! Oh my God!"

As she had done repeatedly before, she turned her head into Tom's direction, as if they were able to do something about it. Tom reacted by trying to suppress his laughter, making her blush even more.

Throughout the show, he had been sitting in a very relaxed way, leaning himself to the chair while putting his hands together on his knees. Despite having full attention to the stage, he would only react with a smirk or perhaps a cynical laughter to the scenes that he saw. But only a few moments ago, he –for some reasons- decided to move closer to Ginny, watching the girl with an intense look on his eyes.

His gaze was almost too powerful for Ginny to bear, and she found herself blushing uncontrollably whenever her gaze met his. He would only smile, which triggered an even worse reaction from her part.

"That's right, the Phantom took Christine to the underworld," he said, placing his hand on his smoothly shaven chin.

"I know! What's going to happen! He's not gonna hurt her, right?"

"Calm down, nothing bad is going to happen," Tom said, fixing his sitting position.

"What? Why..."

"Just watch and learn, Miss Weasley." Tom then put both of his hands onto Ginny's cheeks, and pretended to switch her head into the stage's direction.

[ _break_ ]

"So Phantom kidnapped her to teach her to sing, and he was actually a great opera writer!"

The show had ended half an hour ago, and Ginny found herself walking down the street together with Tom. It was a bit windy at the evening, but the atmosphere was rather cheerful, with couples passing by and children chatting loudly with their parents, talking about the show they have just seen for the first time.

Ginny was still in awe of the show and could not stop talking about it. "You know what, Tom, I really like it when it's like this! When the bad guy turned out to be the good guy!"

Tom smiled. "Plot twists can be amazing."

"I wish there are more stories like that!"

"There are actually plenty of stories like that." Tom stopped, waiting for the traffic light to turn green and allow them to cross the street.

"Really?"

"Yes. Even in real life, I actually think it's the norm. The seemingly good guy turns out to be the bad guy," he continued before turning into Ginny's direction. "And of course, the other way around."

Ginny could not find the right reply to that, so she took the moment to finally get a good look at Tom, observing him from head to toe without having to feel embarrassed about it.

She was beyond relieved, and even slightly proud, of the fact that he was just as good-looking as he was in the magazine. It was not about his perfect hair and fair complexion, which made her believed that he would look really pretty as a woman, making her even more self-conscious of her freckles and her cheeks.

It was the way he carried himself.

That night he wore a dark suit and a green shawl, tied into a knot under his neck. He also had long, black coat, which floats lightly as the wind blew. When he walked, he liked to put his hands inside the pocket of his coat, and Ginny adored the way he seemed to be always going into something. As if, there was never a time in his life when he would just walk around with no clear intention.

Then there was also the way he talked. As they waited for the show to start, they spent quite a good deal of time chatting, and there were some things that she was able to conclude. First of all, he was definitely a man of substance. It was hard for Ginny to remember all the information that she had acquired during the time he spent with this man. He was really that smart, and how he managed to learn about it all fascinated her.

Sometimes he was a bit full of himself, seeming to enjoy talking about his achievements and experiences, especially to an eager young listener like Ginny. But then, when you were really that amazing, you have so much to offer to the person you are talking to, right? That was why Ginny did not mind at all listening to him bragging. Especially since he was very articulate and well-read.

They continued to walk and Tom unexpectedly asked, "Ginny, do you only write romances? Or is your story a one-time thing?"

"Oh ... Yes, why, of course!" she replied, trying to keep up with his pace. "I'm a teenage girl, Tom, I can't keep my head off romances."

Tom smirked. "Should have known. So, am I going to get any spoiler for the next chapters?"

Ginny tried to find an appropriate answer. Do writers give out spoilers, even to their own best friends?

"Well, no," she replied hesitantly. "But I can tell you one thing: There'll be a romantic scene."

"Does it involve a prince singing under the window with the full moon as the background?"

"No! Not like that! It's cheesy ... But yeah, there'll be the full moon. A dance in the park, waltzing, with the full moon in the background ..."

The girl suddenly lost all of her words when she realised that they were stopping just in front of the entrance to a park. Obviously Tom noticed this as well, and there was this obnoxious smile growing on his face. "Interesting ..."

Before she knew it, he was already walking into the park.

"No ... Wait, Tom!"

She quickly followed him into the park, trying hard to keep up with his pace, which seemed to quicken with his growing interest in something.

Meanwhile, she could not ignore the fact that the park seemed to be just as fascinating in the winter. The snow had started to melt, but there were white spots in various parts of the park. The trees had lost its leaves, yet instead of ruining its beauty, it enables her to see through the sky.

They finally reached a clearing, where Ginny found Tom standing in the middle of a gravel path. He had his back on Ginny and was looking upward to the sky.

There was the full moon, hanging there in the sky like a gigantic lamp installed by God.

"Wow!"

"I know."

Her pace began to steady until she finally came to a halt, right beside Tom. He then turned himself to her direction, with perhaps the most alluring smile she had ever seen in her young life.

He then bowed to her direction. "May I have this dance?"

Ginny felt as if her heart dropped to her stomach. "Um ... Eh ... Hello?"

The ground should have opened and swallowed her inside, as this was not how one supposed to react when being asked for a dance by a really handsome bloke.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Not 'hello', Ginny, this isn't a phone call."

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry ...," Ginny replied, looking all red from above the shoulders. Putting her purse and the flower that he had given her on a nearby bench, she stopped to pull herself together before touching the rim of her dress, and bowing like princesses do. "Yes, please."

He took her hands, and slowly guiding her to where she needed to place them. After she was ready, he guided her to follow the steps to a waltz -which he happened to know really well.

"Y-you know," Ginny muttered. "You can dance. The waltz."

Tom gave a victorious smile. "It's part of being a gentleman."

Ginny felt another strike of warm blush. "That's amazing."

"Thank you," Tom replied, guiding her to spin. Ginny's heart leaped when she saw the way her dress floats.

"But there is no music, sadly."

"Oh, we can easily arrange that," Tom replied, beginning to sing a song that they both heard at the show tonight.

It was obvious that he did not know all the lyrics to the song, and filled many of the unknown parts with 'blablabla' and 'something something'. Ginny just could not stop laughing at this. "You can't sing!"

"Like you can!"

They continue to dance and laugh, until somehow they decided that it was enough.

Exhausted, Ginny threw herself onto one of the benches, while Tom stood in front of her, fixing his coat. "I hope it was exactly like how you picture it in your mind."

[ _break_ ]

Tom accompanied her until they arrived near Mrs. Weasley's fish-and-chips shop. It was still in their operating hour, and since it was Saturday night, the shop was even more crowded than usual.

Ginny could not imagine what would happen if her mother find out that she was walking home with a man who was almost twenty years her senior, so she told Tom to leave her there, a few meters from the entrance of the shop, and let her walk in by herself. She had also made sure that the flower that he had given her was hidden safely inside her coat.

"So ... I guess this is where we parted," Ginny said, playing with her hands. She tried to force a smile onto her face, though it was obvious that she did not want the night to end. If possible, she wanted to turn herself into the size of a hamster, and hid herself in his pocket.

"Well. I have to get going," Tom said. "Good night, Ginny."

"Good night, Tom," Ginny replied. "Thank you. Very much. I will never forget this night."

She looked at him the way she never looked at any man before: There were different kinds of emotions in her eyes, from adoration, sadness, to hope. Seeing this, for the first time ever that night, Tom gave away a sincere, warm smile. "Glad you do."

He reached out his hand to touch her young cheek softly; the girl used this chance to hold his hand for the last time.

Once they felt like they had enough, he softly pinched her cheek, and turned to walk away from the fish-and-chips shop.

He walked along the rows and rows of small shops on the street, watching the excitement of his surroundings. Music from a nearby pub, people chatting while enjoying their dinner. Different kinds of people passing him by, mostly young and happy and carefree.

He quickened his pace and was soon heading to a more quiet part of the area. There were no people passing him by anymore, and the only noise came from a car speeding on the street, which soon faded away. It was as if someone had decided to lower the volume of the television, and there were only the sound of his own footsteps, and the sound of a bicycle, moving slowly right behind him.

There was suddenly a loud, crashing noises coming from behind.

Tom immediately turned himself to see what was going on.

It turned out that the person who was riding the bicycle had fallen off; he was lying on his side on the cold street, while his mountain bike was nearby, its wheel still spinning madly.

The young man had lost his glasses during the fall, and he was struggling to find it. Tom noticed that the glasses was about a few centimeters in front of him, but obviously the young man would not notice, so he moved to pick it up for him.

"Thank you," the young man said, his bright green eyes were soon covered by his glasses. Tom noticed that there was a small chip on the corner of one of the lenses.

"It can be hard to ride them on two wheels," Tom said, helping the young man to get up.

"Yeah. Must be nice to be so perfect all the time," the boy replied as he cleaned his clothes off dust. Tom arched his eyebrows, as he did not expect the young man to be able to respond him with sarcasm.

"Well," Tom said, eyeing the young man from head to toe. He was wearing a black windbreaker and dark red shawl, mindlessly knotted on his neck, which was not to be compared with Tom's tidy, smooth green one. His jeans were torn on the knee, and he had a black Converse on. From how he looked like, Tom was certain that he was at least a year older than Ginny, and must be a member of a sport team. The typical. "Next time, be careful."

Tom then turned and proceeded walking. He was only five steps away when the boy suddenly shouted, "I know you!"

He halted, and carefully turned into the boy's direction. "Excuse me?"

The boy was still standing there, with his mountain bicycle lying helplessly on the street. Apparently he had completely forgotten about it, as his gaze was focussed solely on Tom. His hands were also balled into a fist.

"I know you," said the young man. "I saw her computer. You're the one she'd been chatting with."

 _Friend of the kid_ , said the voice in Tom's mind. He then reacted by giving a cold smile. "Ah. You are one of Ginny's friends."

"I don't know who you are, but I don't think I can trust you," the young man said, glaring at Tom. "Surely a man of your age doesn't hang with a teenage girl for nothing?"

Tom lowered his head, letting out a cynical laugh. "Said the bloke who peeked into his friend's computer. I bet you did not ask for her permission."

There was a slight blush on the young man's cheek.

"I also know who you are. Ginny talked a lot about you," Tom replied. "You're the footballer, right? Her brother's best friend? Harry Potter?"

Harry looked as if he was just being punched on the stomach. Tom let out another laugh.

For the next minutes, the two men just stood there, facing each other. There was a growing tension in the air, as if the oxygen level suddenly decreased. But it seemed to make them only more determined to outpower each other with their stare.

Two men. One in long black coat, another in black windbreaker. Well-combed, wavy jet-black hair met messed up, straight jet-black hair. Green cashmere shawl and red woolen shawl. A humble student and an ambitious politician. Fire on bright green orbs and ice on the dark ones.

One of them suddenly decided that he has no time for this.

"Well, nice to meet you, Harry," Tom said, putting his hands inside his pocket. "I am going to let Ginny knows that we have met, and uh ... Had a nice little chat. Have a good evening."

He then turned and walked away, leaving Harry and his bicycle alone.

After a few steps, he turned to Harry's direction and shout, "I think you have a crush on her!"


	9. Traitor!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They live among us.

**Traitor!**

We are now looking into an empty parking lot of a deserted factory somewhere outside the city. There were some old, rusty dustbins and other types of junk piled up in one corner of the parking lot, which gave quite a spacious room for cars to drive around in. Even as we speak, a sky blue Ford Anglia can be seen going around in circle inside it.

In the first few minutes of its arrival, the Ford Anglia seemed to be driving smoothly. It went around the parking lot in circles, and there were also times when the car moved backward or parked itself in one of its corner. Then changes started to happen when the car stopped and both Ron and Harry walked out of it.

Apparently the two boys were switching places, with Ron finally sitting at the driver's side, where Harry used to sit.

That was when trouble happened.

What used to be the sight of a car moving smoothly on the sandy path of the parking lot, now changed into a pitiful little engine which seemed to be moving-stopping-moving-stopping. One can only imagine how nauseating it must be inside the car, especially since the car suddenly sped up that it almost hit the wire fence.

Thankfully the car managed to stop, and for some reasons the driver decided that he wants to move backward, and then– _CRASH_. He ended up hitting the pile of junks in the corner.

"I know you suck at this, but this is a new low, man," Harry said, as Ron came running back from fixing the pile of junks.

Ron lifted up his hands. "So very sorry ... But seriously, maybe this isn't the best day for practice ..."

Harry decided to push the hand brake, and loosen up his seat belt. Despite being of the same age with Ron, he had had a good amount of driving lessons with his godfather Sirius. We can pretty much say that he is ready to take the driving licence examination as soon as he came of age, as he was even already capable of teaching his friends how to do it.

Of course Ron did not take it easily when he first found out that his best friend was already good enough behind the wheel; his sense of competition was triggered.

Luckily the boy had matured up a bit. Instead of sulking about it, he pulled off enough courage to ask Harry to teach him. He was his best friend after all; surely it does not have to be difficult. Ron even managed to sneak his father's Ford Anglia out and use it for driving lessons. It will remain a mystery how he managed to do it without his mother finding out.

As for today, it does not seem to be the best for Ron. Well, there was never a good day for him behind the wheel, at least not yet. But this is definitely the worst.

"Seriously, what happened?"

Ron sighed heavily, leaning his head to the steering wheel. "Burnt out. Too much stress."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What is it this time?"

"It's my Mom!"

"Last time it's also your Mom."

"It's always been about her, okay?"

"Okay."

"And Ginny as well."

This time he managed to gain Harry's full attention. "What? What about her?"

Ron smirked. "Ha! I know you'd listen." He rubbed his face with his palm. "Well, it wasn't Ginny's fault, really, it was Mom's. But I still get really annoyed."

Harry remained quiet, gesturing for Ron to proceed telling his story. The ginger-haired boy then began by saying how he always dreamt about starting his own business. Not very strong in academics, don't think I can do really well working for other people, he said. He did not even think that he is going to enjoy working in an office setting.

That was why Mrs. Weasley's fish-and-chips shop came as a way out for Ron. Getting to have your own business, without having to experience the hassle of starting it up, sounds very inviting for the young man. Ever since its inception, as Mrs. Weasley's own son, he had expected to inherit this shop someday.

It became his motivation to work hard in the shop, and he always made sure that he has an active participation in every important decision and events. Until Mrs. Weasley decided, without informing her other children who had worked hard for the shop, that the shop is going to be in Ginny's hand.

"She didn't tell anyone, not even Dad!" Ron said furiously. "She didn't even ask if Ginny wanted it or not. She just handed it to her!"

Harry nodded, giving an understanding look.

"And you know how she is ... She never even wants to be in that shop! She doesn't care at all!" he continued. "She was never serious, always leaving her work to other people ... She only cares about her computer and nothing else!"

This suddenly reminded Harry of something, and then it was his turn to look disturbed.

The change did not go unnoticed by Ron, who looked concerned.  "Oi! You all right? What's with the sudden gloom?" 

Harry sighed deeply, and looked away from Ron. No, at first he was not going to tell anyone about this, as he realised how very sensitive this issue was. But he had been doing a lot of thinking, especially after what happened that night when he was close to arriving at the store --and found Ginny standing out there with that man. A man he decided he can never trust.

There were some crucial things that are at stake here; no matter how discomforting it was, he knew that he had to talk to someone about it. So Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After counting to three, he turned to his best friend and said, "Ron, there's something that I need to tell you about your sister."

Ron looked like he almost jump out of the car. "You two are NOT dating!"

"No!! It's more serious than that!"

"What can be more serious than that!?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Okay, how about this? Your sister's been talking to someone on the internet."

There was a moment of silence.

"So?" Ron asked, looking indifferent. "Everyone is talking to someone on the net these days."

"No! No ... You don't understand. This ... This is the different kind of talking," Harry continued, his tempo suddenly increased. "The bloke was much, much older than her, like a proper adult, and he was this ... Smooth-talking, suspicious person, who told her all sort of pretty things, and ... And they've met. Last week."

"Say what?"

The next moment looked as if someone had pressed the mute button and the only thing that we can get was the sight of Harry talking about something so passionately, with his hands moving around and his face looking even more worried that before, followed by similar drastic changes in Ron's facial expression.

At the end of Harry's story, Ron was so shocked that he accidentally touched the horn button of the car and sent deafening noise everywhere.

[ _break_ ]

Tom threw himself onto the massive leather sofa in his living room. Loosening up his tie, he stared into the ceiling of his flat and listened to the thumping beat of his own heart.

After a few silent minutes, with his emotions finally under control, he finally took a deep breath and lowered his head to look at the mess that was once his living room.

Nothing seemed to be in the right place.

The coffee table in front of the sofa was flipped over. Shattered glasses were on the floor, because there was once a glass of water on top of the capsized table. The bookshelf near the television was in a very poor condition with all of its collections on the floor, pages flying in the air like feathers. A framed certificate on the wall was missing, probably had fallen behind the cupboard under it. There was also a massive crack on the television screen; a thick dictionary laid on the floor gave away a short explanation of what had happened.

In the middle of this mess, Tom sat exhaustedly on his sofa, slowly massaging the back of his neck and cursing the bitter fate that had just fallen into him today. 

If only Lucius Malfoy did not bring up that bad news.

He was a friend of the businessman and parliament member. Well, 'friend' was not really the right term to describe it, but it is safe enough to say that they are 'like-minded'. The two gentlemen believe in being superior; that money, despite its helpful nature, would not mean a thing if you do not rub shoulders with the right group of people, or even the decency to know which one you should belong to.

Both liked to pretend that they admire each other's strength and talent in public while their internal motives kept on lurking and waiting for the day when it will be able to show up its ugly faces. As they carefully anticipated for that day to come, Tom aimed to keep it friendly with the man by putting on his best clothes and attending lavish dinner parties at his mansion. He would also bear the mindless conversation these socialites are having: About their designer handbags, their holiday to Tuscany, who is getting married to whom, who is getting a divorce.

In the midst of the fun, Lucius gestured to him to follow him into his study. Tom took it as a sign that he had secured yet another piece of important information; the very reason why this 'friendship' mattered in the first place.

Once the millionaire had poured him a glass of Glenfiddich, and let Tom have the first taste, he made the announcement. "He had found a replacement."

This had taken Tom's mind away from the drink. "Who?"

"The Prime Minister," Lucius continued. "It breaks my heart to tell you this, Riddle, but despite what he had told you, he is not going to let you hold that position forever. Not even until the election. Dippet is bringing in a new fellow as we speak."

Listening to this, Tom began to hold the glass of whisky a little tighter than necessary.

Lucius looked as if he was deeply concerned. "I am so sorry, Riddle. It was foolish for him to replace such a great mind like ..."

"Who is this person that is bound to replace me?" Tom did not even bother to cover the rising anger in his voice.

Lucius went quiet for a while as he observed the furious glare in Tom's eyes. "Kingsley Shacklebolt. I am quite certain that you are familiar with the name."

Tom seemed to lose all his words.

"I believe he was your senior. Had field experiences in the Middle-East," Lucius continued. "Dippet seemed to think that your ... Prodigal tendencies were nothing compared to his well-proven track record. And age."

If there was indeed a satisfied smile on Lucius' face as he said it, then certainly Tom was too angry to notice it at the moment.

He got even angrier as he arrived home, where he had the opportunity and freedom to let it all out. His living room became the first, and perhaps not the last, victim of his wrath.

If there was anything in this world that Tom Riddle would rather have no knowledge of, was the fact that he could easily be replaceable.

When he had successfully gathered the energy to walk into his bedroom, it finally dawned on him that he should do something about it.

[ _break_ ]

It seemed that all the police constables in the department had gathered in front of Detective Moody's office, whispering excitedly about their superior's most recent eccentric behaviour.

It had been more than 24 hour since the detective was last seen out of his office, and his colleagues wondered if they should be worried and break into the room.

It was not that the detective has never locked himself for hours before. In fact, a day seemed short compared to what he did when a mysterious break-in happened at the national bank years ago, leaving everyone perplexed. Moody hid himself for three days straight in his office, and when he came out, he was hallucinating and malnourished. But the case was able to be solved brilliantly and the detective received a well-earned recognition.

This was why his behaviour had left everyone on the fence. At the other hand, this might just be another showcase of the man's genius and capability. But there was also a strong possibility that this person had finally lost his marbles after all these years.

The latter seemed to make a lot of sense, particularly since nobody understood why this case was so important to him.

Behind the closed door, Detective Moody sat on his desk, staring pensively at a massive blackboard in front of him. He was enjoying a bag of roasted chestnuts –he had sent the boys to fetch one from the street for him- and sweat has started to glint on his badly scarred face. However, his focus remain unwavering as he probed all the possibilities that the blackboard has to offer.

By the way, that was quite an impressive graphic on the blackboard.

Detective Moody considered himself an old soul, and he did not appreciate his colleagues' over-dependency on digital technology. Instead of using sophisticated presentation softwares, the man kept a massive collection of stationeries --from colourful chalks to Post-It-- that seemed to belong to the desk of a primary school teacher.

On his blackboard, Detective Moody had drawn a massive chart with boxes and arrows of different colours, each of them explaining their correlation to the murder-suicide case he had been working on. On one box he attached a photograph of the crime scene: Two dead bodies on the floor, each with grotesque gunshot wounds on the head and chest. Another box was filled with background information on the first victim (Gellert Grindelwald, 63, Ministry of Foreign Affairs), while another box was filled with the victim's agenda that day.

There were other boxes filled with information on the gun that was used in this crime (He drew an exclamation mark near this box) and the official statement from the autopsy (Another exclamation mark was added). Below these two boxes, Detective Moody attached a copy of the letter summarizing the investigation result, and added a gigantic question mark beside it.

This is the part that had annoyed Detective Moody so much. The worst part was that nobody else in the Scotland Yard seemed to be bothered by it. 

"This is not a suicide!" he had yelled at his superior when they were about to close the investigation.

"Moody, I know that you have this extraordinary way of seeing things and all, but the father and son had a quarrel," said his superior. "It went really bad and the son accidentally killed his father. And then he killed himself because ... Well, he regretted it. Shameful, they were such respectable family, yes. But this is the truth."

Detective Moody rolled his remaining eye. The other had been hidden behind a leather patch, a memorabilia from his glorious days as a young police constable. "With all due respect, sir, but nobody 'accidentally' picked up a gun and killed a person with such precision."

His superior was silenced for a few seconds, but the man was not going to give up so easily. "What is this that you're trying to suggest, Moody? That the son was too precise in killing his father for his own good?"

"Exactly!" said Moody, standing up from his chair. "Everything about the crime scene ... It was ... It was too perfect! Too clean!"

Detective Moody threw out his arms widely, and yelled so loud that everyone in the office turned their heads to his direction. "So clean that it may as well be fabricated! And if it's true, then this is more than just a father and son quarrel! This is a first degree murder!"

"What are you doing here, commenting on the way he should've killed his father? I may as well declare you as the culprit, Moody!"

The argument continued to heat up until Detective Moody walked out of the room with his superior's permission --given grudgingly-- to continue the investigation.

Luckily, he had been making positive progress, which prevented his superior from making any moves to stop the investigation.

First, Detective Moody found out that Gellert Grindelwald's son had never owned a gun, let alone took a shooting lesson that enabled him to shoot with such precision from this distance. Second, these people were having a quarrel, for Heaven's sake. Wouldn't it be easier if they were just strangling or throwing flower vase at each other, as the crime scene suggested? Why did he has to take a gun and shoot his father? _Why is there a gun in this story_?

Detective Moody had also talked to a mysterious gentleman in black hooded jacket under a highway somewhere outside of London, and his simple advice had only convinced him more that there was indeed a bigger picture behind this.

_Find out who will be most benefited by his disappearance._

He always took the advice of the intelligence very seriously, especially on the matters that happen behind the back of the most powerful group of people in the country. For he does not have the eye that sees it all; he needs the help of an extension.

Guided by the premise, Detective Moody experienced a sudden inspiration jump that led him to throw the chestnuts away, jump down from the desk, and start going through the pile of folders on his desk.

He stopped at a single folder, and his remaining eye widened at what he found inside. The detective took out a cutting from a newspaper he found months ago, at the early stage of the investigation. He did not understand why, but something inside him had told him to keep this article, just in case. 

Detective Moody added one more box on the lower part of his blackboard ("Person of Interest") and attached a news announcement of a young, talented ministry official temporarily replacing Grindelwald's position in the office.

[ _break_ ]

Ginny Weasley was having perhaps the most perfect afternoon in her life. Walking home in her school uniform with a lacrosse stick on her shoulder and her big orange rucksack on her back, the girl hummed to herself as the fine spring wind blew her long mane.

She no longer had her ever-reliable yellow plastic hair clips on, which would usually pinned her hair to the side on days like this.

Recently Tom had started to allow her to video-call him, and he had told her to 'take that ridiculous thing off' during one of their conversations. It made her look childish, according to him, and he complimented her look when she took them off during the call. So she opted to never wear it again, despite questioning look from her mother and her classmates, and let her hair loose on almost every occasion.

Her fourteenth birthday was still months away, but it was as if she had grown a few years older already.

Since the day she met Tom, Ginny felt like something inside her was growing. Whatever it was, it had cause her legs to grow longer and her hips rounder, leading her to walk rather differently these days. Her school uniform suddenly felt stuffy, so she sewed up the rim of her skirt to make them just a bit shorter. Pretty flat shoes that she had found in a nearby thrift store had also replaced her comfortable old Converse, which she inherited from Ron.

Every morning, she would walked down the school corridor with the knowledge that she had this special, secret adult friend that her peers can only dream about. She may never be the most beautiful girl in her year; she may never even had a proper boyfriend. But she knew that she had been chosen, and it made her special.

With her soul now liberated, she would never go back to becoming the boisterous but overlooked little girl at the end of the long line of Weasleys.

Feeling on top of the world, Ginny walked into her family's fish-and-chips shop to find Tonks preparing for the next operating hours behind the cashier. She said hello to the punk rocker, who was sporting green hair that day. 

"Hey. Your parents want to see you in the living room," she replied.

"My parents? You mean, my Mom and Dad? He had came back from work?"

"Unless you were born from a tree, yes. Your Mom and Dad."

Ginny muttered her thanks as she moved beyond the cowboy's door to the family's residential area. As soon as she arrived at the second floor, she was greeted by the sight of her parents, Ron, Percy, the twins, and --surprisingly-- Harry sitting on different spots in the living room. Their parents and Percy occupied the largest sofa while Harry and Ron huddled together on the floor nearby. Her father's favourite armchair was occupied by both Fred and George. 

They seemed quite serious. There was nothing new with Percy, but Mr. Weasley had this exhausted, grieving look on his face. Ron whispered something to Harry's ear when she showed up, while Mrs. Weasley looked like she was going to beat her daughter mercilessly as soon as she was within range. If anything, the twins were the only group which seemed indifferent to the situation, as they were all laughing at something in George's phone.

"Well, hello ... Why is everybody here?" Ginny began, her eyes particularly focussed on Harry.

"Hello, Ginny," Mr. Weasley responded. "Please sit down, we'd like to talk to you." He gestured at the pile of bean bags and pillows on the floor.

Ginny dropped her stuff and pulled a bean bag to sit on. Once she had managed to sit comfortably, she took a look around to read the expression on everyone's faces. _Really, did somebody died?_

"There's something that we need to ask."

"Please, Dad."

"About two weeks ago, on a Saturday. You went to West End to see a show and came back just after nine-thirty." Her father stopped for a moment to take a breath. "Ginny, who did you go to the West End with?"

She blinked her eyes fast. "Oh, that one. I went with friends from the online writers community ..."

"Are you sure about this, my child?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I ..."

_"You're lying!"_

The words hit her like a thunder. Soon everyone in the room shifted their attention to Mrs. Weasley, whose face was as red as her children's hair. Even Fred and George knew that it was time for them to hide their phone and be totally present.

"Molly, please calm down ..."

"No, Arthur, I will not calm down!" his wife fired back. "This child had lied to us and there is no way that I will accept that!"

"Mom, I didn't lie!"

"Shut up!" she yelled again. "How dare you fooled me with tricks! I have no idea what you want, going out with a strange man like that! I did not raise you to be a sugar woman ... Baby ... or something like that!"

Ginny felt like something was blocking her airway. _She knew? But how?_

"Molly! Calm down!" Mr. Weasley yelled. He then turned his focus towards his daughter, who had started feeling shaky inside, despite her father's calm demeanor. "Ginny, dear. Please just tell us the truth. Who did you go with that day?"

"I told you ... W-with friends ..."

Noticing the doubt in his daughter's voice, Mr. Weasley interrupted her with finality in his tone. "Then please tell us their names and let us confirm it ourselves."

"But ..."

"See? Of course she's not able to say anything. She had been lying to us. There's no such thing as ... What do you call it ... 'Writers community.' She made that up. She went out with this man she met on the internet, whom she did not know, and only God knows what he was trying to do to her. Forgive me for thinking my daughter was smarter than that," Mrs. Weasley spilled it all out like a gun.

Everyone was silent for a few painful seconds. But Ginny suddenly pulled up enough courage to fight back. "Mom ... What are you talking about? You can't say that about me, you've no proof ..."

"I don't need proof! Harry here had witnessed everything!"

Ginny took a sharp turn towards Harry's direction. Not knowing how to deal with her sudden reaction, the boy slowly lowered down his head. 

_He saw me that night? But how did he know who Tom was? I never ..._

Then Ginny's memory flew back to that time in the library when she had entrusted him with her laptop. She never used any password to protect her gadgets, and she was chatting with Tom at that moment. And her sentimental tendencies had prevented her from clearing her chat history ...

With a newfound wrath, the girl leaped towards Harry to attack him in any way she can.

If it was not because of Ron, perhaps Harry would have had to endure her punches, as he did not make any effort to run or protect himself.

"How dare you ...!"

"Ginny! No ..."

"I trusted you, you traitor!"

"Ginny!"

The living room turned into a swirling mess as Fred and George tried to pull Harry away from the commotion, while Ron acted as a human shield for his best friend. Mr. Weasley struggled to hold Ginny, who was kicking Ron furiously, while Mrs. Weasley bowed her head down and started crying on the sofa. Percy, knowing his own limitation in physical fights, slowly faded to his own bedroom, where nobody would even recall his existence at the moment.

"STOP THIS, ALL OF YOU! STOP!

Mr. Weasley's thunderous yell finally managed to settle them all. Still in her father's arms, Ginny was panting breathlessly. Her feet were no longer kicking her brother, but there were strands of her own hair inside her mouth and crystals on her eyes. Ron was on his knees, rubbing his sore arms while his ears were looking very red. "You don't mess with my friend, you silly girl!"

"He invaded my privacy!"

"He's trying to protect you, idiot! And since you didn't know any better, hell yeah he should have done that!!"

"Enough! Enough, you two!" Mr. Weasley yelled again. He then released his daughter before forcefully turning her to face him. "Ginny, answer me! Does this mean it's true? You're really going with this stranger that you met online?"

Refusing to answer her father's question, Ginny pulled herself free from him and ran to her room, where she would cry, cry, cry the pain away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. The Great Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Towards what she believed to be freedom.

**The Great Escape**

Have you ever been in this certain state of mind, where you are perfectly balanced in the border between reality and dream?

The sky was still dark outside and Tom Riddle was able to sense that morning is near, yet he was unable to move his own body. Even his eyes refused to be opened.

_Tom ..._

His hand made a jerky move, and his facial expression looked as if he was seeing something that disgusted him in his dream. He then started to move uneasily in his sleep.

_What are you doing?_

The voice started the sound more clear than before. It was as if someone had forcefully put their lips in front of his ears, whispering words that he could not escape ...

_Can I go with you?_

He could see a child. A little girl, not older than five. She was blonde, her short hair looked like those of classic Hollywood child actress, and her pink lips were smiling widely. He did not see any pair of eyes, though. Was it because the light was too bright? Or was it ...

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

He was finally fully awake. Cursing the noise coming from his smartphone, he rubbed his face angrily to get rid of any trace of sleep. Then he sighed heavily, moved to the direction of bedside table and shut the alarm off.

Throwing himself back on the bed, Tom found it amusing that he actually had a dream about his childhood. Not just any ordinary part of his childhood. That was a very special day, the moment that really defined the rest of his life. It was how he first got introduced to that rushing feeling. The raw emotion that had became some sort of an addiction for him.

It is odd that the little girl in his dream was eyeless, for Tom knows for sure that the kid had a pair of perfectly healthy eyes. And they were beautiful, so beautiful that the day the little girl arrived at the orphanage, everyone's attention seemed to be divided ninety-five per cent to the angel, four per cent to the rest of the orphans, and perhaps less than one per cent for Tom, the strange kid who was always seemed to be behind a book.

Craving for attention, really, that little girl was. She would followed all the other kids around, asking them to play with her. And they would always succumbed to her wish, for nobody was able to resist such twinkly eyes and endearing smile.

But Tom found something nauseating in it.

He tried his best to escape the little angel. Until one day, kids at the orphanage were taken on a holiday under the sun, somewhere in Britain's coastal area. They were being paired in groups in order to prevent them from getting lost, and Tom was considered lucky for being able to go with the little angel. Nobody knew how his stomach turned when he saw her smiling face, her innocent questions whenever he tried to walk away from her.

Was it hot anger, blind jealousy, or pure hatred? Whatever it is, that day Tom finally tasted the glorious feeling of surrendering to its sensation, and the sensation grew so hot that it finally exploded just before he pushed the little angel down to the ground and placed his small hands on her throat.

It was because of luck that she survived. It was also luck that she was so shocked that she lost her ability to talk ever since.

Laughing softly to himself, Tom pulled up the blanket to cover himself up. Oh, that glorious, rushing feeling. It came back. As if it was only last night. Combined with the natural urge that shows itself up every morning, Tom felt as if he was on the brink of ecstasy, and deeper to the sea of blanket he swam, satisfying himself to the pleasure that must not be named.

This time, the little girl in his mind has long, ginger hair.

[ _break_ ]

Harry Potter just could not believe the mess that he was seeing when he walked out of the bedroom that morning.

His godfather Sirius hosted a party at their residence last night, in order to celebrate his record company's latest addition. From what he was able to hear in his sleep, the party itself sounded like a huge success. There were loud music, laughter, and a couple had even mistakenly entered Harry's bedroom. They were just about to unbutton each other's trousers when Harry politely asked them to leave ("Um. Hello. Somebody is trying to sleep here? Thanks."). 

This morning, the boy had finally seen how great the party really went last night. He was happy for Sirius, of course, but his godfather was not the one who will be cleaning all this mess!

Harry carefully tiptoed across the living room as the floor is currently littered with beer cans and confetti. At some spots, there were also bodies of people he had no knowledge of, and he secretly hoped that none of them were dead. The couple from last night apparently ended up spooning on the sofa, and one of them made some strange noises that caused Harry to stop short.

After much struggle, he finally managed to get into the kitchen, where another mysterious man seemed to be fast asleep underneath the dining table. Harry decided not to give him a care but almost fainted when he opened up the kitchen cabinet to find Sirius's combat boot inside. He took the misplaced shoe away, grabbed a box of cereal, and came back with a bowl and a spoon to began his breakfast.

That was when he became fully awake, and the fatigue of the past few days finally started to kick in.

Yesterday was a very difficult moment at the Weasleys' place. Fred and George had managed to pull him away from Ginny's wrath by securing him in the twins' bedroom, but he knew that the drama did not end there. Ginny went berserk even after he was taken away, and the girl then locked herself up in her room, refusing to come out.

Despite Mrs. Weasley's encouraging words before and after the commotion, he was so embarrassed by the incident that he had begun to question his decision to tell Ginny's family about his concerns.

The truth was that he really was just concerned. He had heard all these creepy stories about online predators; they are saying nice things to unsuspecting young girls, then in the end the girls' nude pictures are all over the world. Or maybe even worse.

He was just trying to help here. He was just trying to warn the family that their daughter was hanging with an unknown, suspicious man whose motives were still unclear. But he was extremely surprised at how serious they took this issue –he even found himself disagreeing with the way they publicly confronted her.

He did not blame Ginny for being mad at him. He understood how much pressure that girl had to deal with, being judged like that. That was why he did not try to defend himself when he attacked her: He somehow felt responsible for her discomfort, and he felt really guilty for it.

 _Sheesh, stop trying to act like a hero_ , said his mind as he opened up the refrigerator to get the milk. _Yeah, yeah. I know. But ... It's her, you know? How do you stop wanting to protect someone you adore?_

He slammed the refrigerator door shut and found himself staring at a hung-over Sirius, leaning on the kitchen wall, slowly massaging his aching head. "Good morning."

"Ah ... Morning, Harry," said Sirius, slowly moving towards the table. "God, I need a new head ... What's that kid doing over there!?"

"Some people enjoy sleeping on the floor," Harry replied. "So, last night seemed like ... A huge success."

"Yes, and I feel like being ran over by the tube now," Sirius replied, slumping himself down the table.

Harry laughed as he poured the cereal to his bowl. "We can fix that, don't worry."

Sirius then hastily lifted up his head. "Oh my God, Harry ... I'm so terribly sorry. All this mess, blimey. Here's the deal, I do all the cleaning, you don't have to worry about it ..."

"It's all right, really."

"But ..."

Harry reached over the table to grab his godfather's hand. "Sirius. It's all right. Okay? I may not be able to finish it all in a day, but you're not doing this by yourself."

Sirius groaned. "Okay ... God, what have I done to deserve you, Harry. I mean, seriously, if you want to scream and run away from home, I really wouldn't mind ..."

"Calm down, Sirius, I am not running away. Too tired."

There was a comforting silence as Harry began to eat, while Sirius watched him with an endearing look that did not go unnoticed by the young man.

"In the mood for being fatherly?" Harry asked.

Sirius seemed embarrassed that he was caught. "How's life, Harry? Did something bother you lately?"

Harry took a few seconds to consider answering that question. "There's something, actually ..."

Sirius fixed his sitting position, suddenly looked all alert and healthy. "Please, do tell me! Don't keep it bottled up!"

Harry laughed at this sudden change, but then his expression grew serious. "How do you help a person who does not want to be helped?"

"Details, please?"

"Well, I have a friend, he ... She! Well, she did something that worried me. And it turned out that I wasn't the only one who was worried, 'cause when I tried to tell her family that she's been doing things behind them, and it might be dangerous ...," Harry began. "They confronted her and it went really, really ugly."

"Okay."

"My question is ... Um. She didn't take it well, obviously, and I'm quite sure right now she'd just locked herself up and being mad at everyone," Harry continued, feeling surprised at himself for being able to talk for so long.

"And you wonder if you should continue helping her, or let her have her way," Sirius guessed.

"Yes! Yes, exactly," Harry answered, waving his hands madly. "I mean, she obviously hates me now, but I did the right thing, didn't I? Or was I being selfish?"

"Harry, look at your surroundings."

Harry paused and did as told. Whatever it was that Sirius wanted him to see, he had failed to see it. Except if he was talking about the body on the floor. "I don't understand."

"Harry, look at all these wonderful musicians that I had the opportunity to work with," Sirius replied. "Don't ask me how many times I have lost a great, potential talent just because they can't handle their own demons."

Now that is something worth listening to.

"Sometimes it's heroin, sometimes it's girls. Sometimes it's fame. And I don't just sit here and watch while they crash. I talk to them. I persuade them. I give them money, food, housing, rehab, anything! Just to keep them in the right path," Sirius said, tapping on the surface of the table with his palm. "Most of them won't take it."

"That's sad."

"But do you see me giving up?"

This is the point where Harry would start giving a faint smile. "I think I see what you're talking about."

Sirius patted Harry on the back. "Great. And that's exactly what you're going to do."

Sirius made a gesture as if he was trying to find the right words to describe his feelings. "The thing about people and their demons, Harry ... It's ... They can't think straight, these people. They have to be reminded. That's why they need their friends, their families. Even if they wouldn't listen ... Well, at least it's not because we never try."

"Yeah, because they are still under the charm of their demons, right? Because, what happened to my friend was ..."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Harry's ringtone, which was the intro to a very popular song by The Weird Sisters. The boy ran off to his bedroom, scrambling around before finding his phone under the pillow. He caught a glimpse of Ron's name on the screen. As soon as he pressed the green button ...

_"Do you know where the bloody hell my sister is!?"_

[ _break_ ]

Harry pushed the door of the fish-and-chips shop with all his might; the tiny bell on its top was ringing madly. Panting, his eyes searched madly for a familiar face in the then-empty room, and he was beyond relieved to find Mrs. Weasley and Percy in one of the dining tables.

"Mrs. Weasley!" he immediately ran off to her direction.

"Harry! Oh, Harry," she slowly got up, stumbling a little as she reached over to hold her son's best friend. Percy hastily tried to assist her, as she looked as if she might faint anytime soon.

"What's going on? What happened to Ginny?"

"I don't know, Harry, I don't know," Mrs. Weasley sighed, returning back to her seat. She picked up a pile of tissue from a nearby box, and used them to wipe her tears dry.

"We called her for breakfast this morning, and she's not in her room," Percy jumped in.

"What ..."

"She'd been inside her room since last night, she just wouldn't come out," Mrs. Weasley continued. "I told her that I'm not going to be mad at her. But she wouldn't say a thing."

"There were no answers when we tried to call her, so we decided to broke into her room," Percy added, rubbing his mother's shoulder. "She's gone. So was her bag. And her window was wide open, so I think she escaped from there."

Harry slumped down to his seat.

Somebody's phone was ringing on the table, and Mrs. Weasley became even more agitated when her son reached out for it. "Is that your father? What does he say?"

"Hello. Yes, Dad, how was it? Still no result? All right," Percy stared at his mother with a meaningful look that distressed her even more. "Thank you, Dad, I'll tell Mom. 'Bye." With an almost inaudible sigh, Percy dropped down his phone.

"What did he say?" Mrs. Weasley just could not wait.

"He's been to the school. It's Saturday so there's no one there. But he had called McGonagall, and the school is going to help search for her," Percy replied. "Dad's going to the police now."

"Where are the others?" Harry asked.

"My brothers are searching around the area," Percy replied. "Harry, do you have any idea where she might be?"

Harry did have an idea, but he was too scared to say it out loud.

"That man on the internet. I'm sure she was going to see him."

Mrs. Weasley was grim when she said it.

[ _break_ ]

Ginny Weasley was buying a piece of pork sandwich and hot tea for breakfast when her brother Ron suddenly rushed in to the delicatessen. Panicking, she quickly hid her food inside her rucksack, let her hair loose to cover her face, and pulled the hood of her jacket up.

As her brother walked around the room, trying to catch a glimpse of his missing sister, she quickly joined a group of tourists who was about to depart from the place. Her petite figure enabled her to blend in perfectly with them, and no one even noticed that there was one extra person in their line up as they noisily left the delicatessen.

Her journey had just begun; she cannot let it end too soon.

[ _break_ ]

"Good evening, Mr. Riddle."

Tom was just walking out of his car and did not even get to close its door when two policemen and a big man with a leather eye-patch and horrendous scars on his face came up to greet him. Well, Tom had actually noticed them standing near the entrance of the car park when he first arrived. It is just that he would never think that they are actually coming to talk to him.

"Evening," Tom replied, feeling somehow relieved that the car's door was able to protect his personal space from the mysterious scarred man. "How may I help you, gentlemen?"

"Mr. Riddle, my name is Alastor Moody," said the man, showing off his badge. "And we are here to ask you about a missing child."

"A missing child?" His mind was reminded of the dream he had this morning.

"Yes." Moody replied. He took out a smartphone from inside his coat and searched for something in it. Once he had found what he was looking for, he held it out so that Tom can see what is in it. "Have you seen this girl, Mr. Riddle?"

Tom took the old, battered smartphone from his hand, and he swore he could even feel his pupil dilating at the sight of Ginny Weasley on its screen. His quick mind immediately thought of strategies to divert the detective's attention.

"No, sir ... I have not," Tom replied carefully.

"But as far as we are aware of, you do know Miss Ginny Weasley?"

Tom was not sure why, but he decided that it would be all right to spill a little bit of the truth to the detective. Just a little bit. "Yes, we are friends. But no, I have not seen her. We have never met," Tom replied, handing the phone back to Moody.

There was a strange glint on Moody's eye, and he lifted up his head in curiosity. "How is that so, Mr. Riddle?"

"Beg your pardon?"

The detective put his phone back in his pocket. "You said you two were friends. And you sir, you recognised her at first glance. As soon as you saw the picture. But you said you've never met her, so how is that possible, sir?"

Tom gave away a smile that would sweep all the girls in England off their feet. "It's the internet, Detective. There is this social networking site, and that was where we know each other," he explained. "We often chatted. And I was familiar with her face, because she has the exact same picture on her profile."

Moody muttered. He was honestly intrigued by how easy Tom came up with this explanation. Was it really the truth?  "When was the last time you two talked? Over the internet, I mean."

Tom arched his eyebrows, pulling out a funny face as he tried to re-create his last conversation with Ginny. It has to be carefully thought of, of course. "Let's see ... Weeks ago, I think. I can't be sure as I don't keep my chat history."

Then he suddenly remembered to add a little touch of sympathy. "Yes, I have been wondering, actually ... I have not heard from her for a while. So you said she was missing?"

There was a pressing tone in his last sentence that did not escape Moody's attention. "Yes, ran away from home three days ago. Her family had reported to the police."

"How did you know?"

"Pardon?"

"Ah, I mean ... I will always be glad to help, of course, but I wonder how you know that I am a friend of hers?" Tom asked, trying his best to conceal the pressure in his voice.

"We try to give our best effort, Mr. Riddle. We have been tracing all her friends and possible acquaintances." 

"I see. I hope that she will be found soon," Tom replied with a concerned expression on his face. As if it was a search engine in a computer, his rushing mind stopped at a single image of a teenage boy with messy jet-black hair and rounded spectacled.

"Thank you, Mr. Riddle. Well ... I think that's all for now. Thank you for your time," Moody said with a slight nod of his head. He gestured at the two police constables to leave. "We are very sorry to disturb your evening."

"Sorry that I was not able to help you with that," Tom said, the infectious smile returned.

Moody gave away a polite smile. "No problem at all! People have been really helpful. That's the good thing about missing child cases, if anything. People are concerned ... They wish to be involved."

"I imagine. It is always bad whenever a child goes missing."

"Yes, yes. People are more sympathetic. The same goes with cases of missing women!"

"Is it?"

"Yes! Like many years ago, when Miss Helena Ravenclaw went missing."

And that does it.

For the first time ever, Tom failed to hold on to the flawless, angelic mask that he usually found very easy to control of. Anger and fear rose in his eyes, and the gentleman even struggled to begin speaking again. "Uh, excuse me, but why you suddenly brought this up?"

"Ah ... I'm sorry, Mr. Riddle, but it's hard not to notice the similarity between this case and Miss Ravenclaw's!" There was a satisfied glint on Moody's eye, as if this was the moment that he had been waiting for.

"I do not think there is any similarity between these two cases, Detective."  

Noticing the change in his opponent's emotions, Moody let out a mocking laugh. "Ha! Of course there is, Mr. Riddle. Both of these girls, they ... _They know you_."

The mask had completely fallen off.

"I'm sorry, Detective, but I really do not understand why you have to bring this up," Tom fired away. "I was only a university student, and having to sit at the police office, being interrogated for hours, for something I have no idea of ... While my girlfriend was ... Somewhere ..."

"I'm sorry, sir. It must be really hard for you."

"Yes, that was indeed a very hard, thank you very much, Detective."

"But you managed to get through it all, no? Because you had a very strong alibi."

Tom lost all of his words at this point.

"Oops. I'm sorry, but I think I've taken too much of your time," Moody said in an almost comical way. "Have a great evening, Mr. Riddle."

He walked away from the bewildered gentleman with a victorious smile on his face.

_I got you, Riddle._

Meanwhile, Tom angrily slammed the door of his car shut.

[ _break_ ]

Ginny Weasley felt a shudder when she stood under a canopy in a crowded street somewhere in London. This had been the fourth day of her escape, and she began to feel exhausted.

She needed to keep on moving to prevent herself from getting caught by her family. She had seen some of her brothers in public places, running around and asking people whether they have seen this young girl on the pamphlets they are carrying. There were also posters of her being posted on postboxes and walls, completed with her family's contact numbers and address. By far, she had managed to escape every single cross encounters, thanks to this dark blue hooded jacket and her long ginger hair, dangling on the side of the face to give a better cover up from onlookers.

Really, how disgusting her hair had been. She could not remember the last time she had showered, and all those times she spent sleeping in public toilets and tube stations did not do them any good. No wonder people failed to recognise her; despite being a tomboy, she had always been a neat girl and the picture on the poster was a far cry from how she looked at the moment.

She then stared at the darkening sky. Blimey, why did she have to forget her watch? She had intentionally turned off her smartphone, so there really was no way to tell the time. But one thing she was certain of is that her heavy rucksack had begun to dig in painfully into her shoulder, and she was in dire need of a proper place to lay herself on.

Thankfully her destination is nearby, so she only needs to quicken up her pace to get there.

[ _break_ ]

As soon as the lift's door was closed and he was out of sight, Tom punched the nearest wall with all his might.

He could not believe what just happened to himself. A detective, popping out of nowhere to talk to him about his past involvement with murder! This is unacceptable. Apparently he had been wrong to think that the past had been buried, together with that stupid bitch's dead body. It was out there in the sun, walking around, until a ruddy detective got to come up to it and say hello. 

He had to admit that Detective Moody, whoever he was, was definitely better than his comrades in the town. It was still fresh in Tom's mind, how baffled the local policemen were with the mysterious disappearance of Miss Ravenclaw, a medical student. She was last seen entering her dormitory room --where she found her boyfriend waiting for her inside.

At the early days of their relationship, his ability to sneak in undiscovered to her dorm sounded quite romantic and adventurous. But things had changed; the lady had been avoiding him and his appearance came out as a threat for her.

It was not very clear how he managed to persuade --or threaten-- her to leave the room. The next thing Miss Ravenclaw knew was that she was laying on the ground, with her boyfriend smashing her head with a stone. She was still breathing when he threw her down a hole underneath the tree, but certainly not for long.

Once Tom was certain that there was no bloodstain on his clothes, he walked into a nearby pub, where his friends were having a party. They were not sober enough to remember what time exactly he walked into the place, but they certainly remembered seeing him there that night. Turned out this was enough to fool the local police force. But not Moody.

This mean Tom really needed to move fast with his plan, as he was being closely watched.

Also, the news about Ginny running away from home ...

_Ding._

The lift stopped on the ground floor, and the door opened to reveal a girl with long, ginger hair standing in front of him. She looked hesitant when she walked into the lift, but her smile immediately grew when her gaze met his.

"Tom!"

The gentleman felt as if his head was going to explode.

"You!!" he grabbed her by the arm and slammed her into the lift's wall face first. "What do you think you're doing!?"

"Ouch! Tom, it hurts!"

He refused to let go of her left arm, keeping her trapped between himself and the wall. Her right cheek and shoulder were pressed on the wall, and Tom proceeded to grabbing her by the hair with his free hand. "Why are you even here now!?"

"Stop! You hurt me ..."

"Answer me!" With that, he shoved the girl's head into the wall.

She had wanted to, but her tears had made it impossible for her to speak. He finally let go of her, though not without any force. Feeling too scared to even stand up, Ginny slumped to the floor, trying to hold on the wall for dear life.

She wished to keep eye contact with him, aiming to explain everything. But her tears continued to choke her; at this point she could not even lift her head. She knew that he was glaring at her, and she honestly feared what might happen if she makes him angry again.

The eerie silence was broken by another _ding_.

Tom walked as fast as he could to leave the lift, while Ginny struggled to get up and follow him.

She felt misplaced. Perhaps she should not be here after all.

[ _break_ ]

They got inside the flat, and Ginny could only resume her silence as Tom put his leather bag on a table near the kitchen. He took off his long coat and shawl, but did not offer Ginny to take off hers, so she did not dare to make any move. Somehow she had the impression that he is going to ask her to leave in less than five minutes.

He walked into the living room while taking off his tie. Ginny walked really slowly behind him, but despite her unfavourable state, she still managed to take the liberty to check out his place.

There was a big bookshelf on her side. She moved away a bit from Tom to pay close attention to the thick volumes, and notice some familiar titles. A massive collection of Encyclopedia Britannica, some classics. She realised that many of them are old and slightly battered, but she took it as a good sign. That means the owner actually read them, right?

Her attention was then refocussed into the rest of the flat. The interior of the place was modern and simple. There were not many decorative things to adorn the place, but blimey, those were quite impressive diploma and certificates hanging on the wall. 

There were also photographs of Tom in his younger years. On his graduation day. Speaking on the podium in a debate competition. Wearing a suit in front of the Foreign Affairs office. At a party with his Eton and Cambridge friends, all of them looking beautiful, smart, and untouchable. Hugging a very pretty girl with long, wavy hair (Something painful grew in Ginny's chest as she saw this photo).

Ginny noticed that there was no photo of him as a child, and she immediately understood why.

"Sit down."

Her attention was diverted into him again, who was sitting on one end of the sofa. He left his tie hanging loosely on his neck, his white shirt untucked, while its sleeves were being rolled neatly. Following his order, Ginny dropped her rucksack to the floor and sat on the other end of the same sofa.

He kept on staring at her, making her feel small. "Does it still hurt?"

"No, it's okay, I ..."

"Show me."

Not wanting to make him angry again, Ginny took off her jacket. The bruise on her right cheek was obvious, but she needed to roll her sleeves to show where Tom had hurt her when he grabbed her into the lift. She also pointed to her right shoulder. "There's one here ..."

"Let me see that."

Hesitantly, Ginny pulled down the collar of her black T-shirt, so that Tom could see the bruises on her shoulder. Her heart suddenly beat faster; she hoped it was because her bruise turned out to be worse than she thought. Not because he was able to take a glimpse of her skin.

She had been trying to keep herself composed, but her watery eyes were a testimony to the physical pain that she was feeling.

Without a word, Tom got up and walked into the kitchen. Sighing, Ginny took the moment to take another good look around his flat.  There was a massive crack on the television screen, and she was wondering why when Tom came back with a bowl of ice cubes and a small towel.

He did not say a word; he simply sat on the coffee table in front of her, wrapping the ice cubes with the towel, and then put the towel on the red marks on her skin. Ginny winced a bit, but then she forced a smile. "Thank you."

"You ran from home."

"Yes."

"What's going on?"

"Well. My parents. They found out about you, and ... They don't like it. You know, they're being fussy and all. So I ran ... I don't know, I'm just mad at them."

"So they know about me?"

"Yes."

_Damn!_

"And they know you're here?"

Ginny shook her head slowly. "They still can't find me. It's been three days."

Tom sighed deeply, and his gaze wondered around the room. Obviously he was not happy about it. "Did anyone see you? When you got here?"

Ginny fixed her sitting position. "No. Oh, no, Tom, I'm quite sure. I went inside through the back door, and it was empty there ... Even the lobby ..."

"Shut up, Ginny, I did not ask for details."

Embarrassed, Ginny bowed her head down, and that was when she first realised that Tom's hands had never actually leave hers. One was pressing the towel gently on her skin while the other had its fingers clasped into hers.

Such beautiful hands. If only they were holding hers in better time.

"Do you want me to leave?"

Tom lifted up his head, watching her intently.

"Uh, I mean ... I'm going to put you into trouble, if my parents know I'm here. Sorry. I was stupid to think that it'd be okay..."

"Don't be silly."

"Eh?"

"I said, don't be silly. You can stay."

Ginny seriously thought she had misheard it.

"Look, Ginny, I do not approve of what you're doing here. Especially with the fact that you have gotten me involved," Tom said.

"I'm sorry..."

"But then, be honest to me ... Where have you been sleeping all these days?"

"Well. Different places. Stations, public toilet. I slept on a bench once, in a park."

"Then I am quite certain that your parents would rather have you sleep in a proper bedroom. At least for one night."

Ginny lifted up her head to look at Tom. She felt heat radiating from inside her chest, and blood started to flow through her system again.

As if immune from her radiating joy, he remained serious and grim. "But there's one condition. Tomorrow, you are going home. I'm going to take you. If necessary, I'll explain everything to your parents. So that there won't be any misunderstanding. Is that clear?"

Ginny slowly nodded.

The coldness and cleanliness of Tom's flat suddenly felt very comforting for her.

[ _break_ ]

Ginny stood in front of the sink, drying her hair with a towel. She still found it hard to believe that she was standing inside Tom's bathroom. His bathroom. Where he takes a shower everyday. His most personal space!

When she first got in there, she actually paced around restlessly like an excited puppy, stopping only to pick up the bottles in his shower and smell them one by one. Indulging in the clean scent that she associated with his presence, whenever they stood close together.

When she washed herself in the shower, she actually stared blankly at the shower head for a few minutes, watching the glistening water falling towards her. Marveling at the idea that this should be the sight that he sees everyday --and she got to enjoy it as well.

When the girl walked out of the bedroom in her yellow pyjamas, she found Tom leaning over the bed, fixing the place for her to sleep.

"I am going to take the sofa. You sleep here," he announced, dropping a warm, crisp blanket on the bed.

"T-thank you," Ginny replied. "It's very nice of you."

Tom picked up another pillow and blanket. "I will be outside."

He walked out and closed the door by pushing it with his foot, leaving Ginny all alone in his bedroom. At this point, the excitement that she had been feeling since she was in the bathroom had doubled by half.

Lost for words, the girl ran her fingers through the crisp white sheet, feeling the smooth surface. She then slowly got on the bed, making a creaky noise as she crawled towards the pillow. Soon she threw herself on the bed, allowing her body to be surrounded by the scents of freshly washed linen. After days of falling asleep on hard surfaces, her bones felt as if they were re-arranging themselves to its proper places that night. 

Ginny began to feel light, and was about to enter dreamland when something passed through her mind. The girl then got herself up, and slowly opened the bedroom's door.

She found Tom laying on the sofa, half-covered by a woolen blanket. He did not seem to be sleepy at all; he was typing something on his phone and barely looked into Ginny's direction. "Yes?"

Turned out he noticed her standing there. "Oh! Um ... I ... I feel bad about this ..."

"About?"

"You sleeping on the sofa."

Without looking up from his phone, he sneered, "Why? You want to tell me that I have your consent to sleep on the same bed as you are?"

"No, no ...! That's not ...!"

Tom put down his phone, and gave a knowing smirk. He then nodded towards the empty space next to him. "Come here."

Once again hesitant, Ginny found herself rooted by the door, not knowing what to do.

"Do I always have to say things twice to you?" Tom waved his hands impatiently.

"Okay, okay." Ginny then rushed to the sofa's direction and sat on its far end, too nervous to even look at Tom. The gentleman sighed. Without saying a word, he reached out to pull Ginny into sleeping position, right next to him.

The choking noise that she made was impossible to hide. 

"Just go to sleep," he whispered.

Facing the coffee table in the living room, Ginny could feel his hand circling her waist before he pulled her closer to his body. She could feel his cheek on her hair, and his long legs slowly adjusting to hers. Soon the scents that she had been indulging in the bathroom engulfed her; she dared herself to turn around to face him, to have more of it. And buried her face in his chest, clutching on the old jumper that he used to sleep in. 

She lost herself in the warmth of Tom's body, and there was nothing else about that night that she could remembered.

Meanwhile, as soon as she was fully asleep, Tom rose slowly to pick up his phone again. He typed a message and have it sent to a contact named Kingsley Shacklebolt.

There was a satisfied grin on his face.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. The Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What exactly happened.

**The Trick**

It had been a week since the angry blonde attacked Ginny on the first day of her stay at the juvenile correction centre. And my, what a colourful week it was.

The Weasley girl considered herself lucky as that maniac only get to punch her once before she was able to slip to other side of the room. Feeling sick of being everybody's punchbag, Ginny then prepared herself to hit back once the blonde got close to her. But luckily it did not need to happen, as the warden suddenly showed up and pulled that little demon away, just as she was running towards Ginny's direction. 

Ginny never saw her again since that day. She spent the rest of the week with the pregnant girl, who was just beginning to say a few words to her when her water suddenly broke. She had to be taken to the hospital, and nothing was heard of her anymore.

So our girl woke up on a cold Tuesday morning with a sense of gratitude that she was finally able to have the whole room to herself. Not going to lie, while the pregnant girl was not as crazy as the angry girl, she was still a difficult person to deal with. And things are hard enough for Ginny already.

Checking out her watch, she learned that she was about 30 minutes early, but she got up from her bed anyway. Once she was done making it up, she changed her clothes, washed her face, brushed her teeth, combed her hair, and got herself ready to face yet another day at the centre.

Before she walked out of her room, she took a moment to touch the leaves of a small potted plant by her bedside. She had never been a plant person; in fact, she would not even know what this one was called. But she really liked this gift and determined to keep it alive. Somehow, it reminded her about life outside of the centre.

The life that she used to be part of.

She sighed. There is no need to lament over it, eh? Shit happened. And she only had herself to blame for it.

Ginny left the room to welcome another cold, lonely day at the centre.

Despite the bleakness of her fate, something inside her believed that something good was going to happen that day.

[ _break_ ]

Something different did happen that day.

While Ginny was doing her shift sweeping the yard with a large broomstick, she suddenly got called to the office. Once she got there, she was then led to a separate meeting room, where one of the most outrageous looking gentlemen she had ever seen was already sitting in.

His silvery hair and beard reminded her of Santa Claus, but his purple suit made her think of a person from the circus. There were frills on some strategic parts of his suit, and there was also a bright yellow handkerchief peeking out of his pocket. Ginny guessed that under his massive beard his tie must be of similar colour. Though she was unable to see his shoes, she believed that they must be as eye-catching as the rest of his clothes.

She was trying to imagine how the gentleman had looked like when he was young, when he extended his hand. “Miss Ginevra Weasley. My name is Albus Dumbledore. It is a great pleasure to meet you.”

“N-nice to meet you, too,” Ginny replied.

“How was your day? I hope this facility has been treating you well,” Dumbledore said when he returned to his chair.

“I … I guess it was okay.” Ginny shrugged, taking the chair at the opposite of him.

“Very good,” the old man smiled. Ginny noticed that behind the half moon spectacles his eyes shone brightly, as if he had never grown old. “Now there are many things that we need to talk about. But in principal, I am here to bring you good news.”

Ginny leaned forward. “Good news, sir?”

“Well, first of all, I am here as your new attorney. There were several … Updates on your case. And the authority has decided to start afresh with the investigation process. They have also appointed me to take over the case from Mr. Lockhart.”

“W-what kind of updates?”

Dumbledore took out a leather bound notebook from his bag, which was settled on a chair next to him. “Well … It was quite unexpected, really, but a new witness has come forward.”

He put the notebook on the table in front of him. “And we believe that this might just be the way to prove your innocence.”

Ginny felt her heart stopping. Looking as if she was going to jump towards Dumbledore’s direction, she blurted out all sort of nonsense from her mouth. “W-Witness!? There’s a witness!? Who is this witness, and what did he say about me? He saw the whole thing, right? He saw it? Please tell me he saw that it _wasn’t_ me…”

Dumbledore gently lifted up his hand, gesturing Ginny to calm down. “Miss Weasley. I understand that this must be an exciting news for you. But we need to remain calm.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Embarrassed, she folded her arms and bowed her head. Dumbledore smiled again.

“Now. Before I tell you all the details, and we decide our next move …,” he muttered, flicking his notebook open. “Why don’t we begin by talking about what happened?”

Ginny gulped.

“I have certainly been briefed about your case, but I always make a point about hearing it directly from the client. So, tell me, Miss Weasley. About the day the incident happened.”

The girl lifted her head, maintaining eye contact with the attorney’s bright blue eyes. He was no longer the friendly old man that she first saw moments ago. His smile had faded and his piercing gaze allowed her to know that it was finally time to talk business.

Ginny had repeated this story over and over again, that she had actually made a template for it in her mind. But understanding the gravity of the situation, and how this might be the the only chance for her to be free, she began to tell it with a new determination in her voice.

She started out by explaining how she woke up that day on his sofa.

Having been on the run for almost a week, it was the first time she was able to sleep properly. It was only five in the morning, but she was prevented from continuing her slumber by this inviting aroma coming from the kitchen --and this glowing feeling, stemming from the thought that she had spent the night at _his_ place.

She took a look around and gladly noted that everything was just the same as yesterday. A shelf filled with thick, serious books. A television with a cracked screen. A living room that was so clean and sterile, it reminded her of a physician’s office.

Ginny folded the woolen blanket that she had used, but before she put it away, she took the time to put it in front of her face. Trying to adsorb his scent.

The girl then hastily combed her hair using her fingers and moved to the kitchen to meet her saviour.

“Morning. I hope you don’t mind eggs.” 

Tom was moving a piece of omelette into a plate when Ginny walked into the kitchen. There were two plates with a nice, fluffy omelette on the table; they were accompanied by potato chips and tomato slices.  

“Oh. N-not at all. Thank you,” she muttered.

She was a bit shocked to find Tom already fully dressed so early in the morning. Behind a simple grey apron that he used while he made breakfast, he already had his white shirt and black trousers on, completed with dark green tie.

When they moved to the dining table, Ginny noticed that his bag, a black suit, and a long coat were already hung on one of the chairs.

“We’ll go right after breakfast,” he said, putting the plates on pieces of table mat.

Ginny felt herself containing her laughter when she noticed how tidy everything was. The mats and the plates were of matching colour of white and blue, with knives and forks arranged neatly beside them.

She was suddenly reminded of that one time when her family received an invitation from a family friend to have dinner at this high-end restaurant in London. The Weasleys all wore their finest clothes; it was one of the very few times Ginny got to see her mother in full make-up, and she was even allowed to try on this soft pink lipstick.

The atmosphere at the place was so unlike what the kids are used to. Prior to arriving at the restaurant, Percy had researched about table manners and would not stop lecturing his siblings about which spoon to use with the soup. Ron embarrassed himself every time a meal was served (“It won’t stop coming!”) while the twins spoon-fed each other (“Yours tasted better than mine!”). Ginny herself remembered that awkward feeling of having to make sure that her elbows are off the table.

This memory of her family made her feel a bit sad.

With that many people to take care of in the Weasleys’ home, table manners often just flew out of the window. The plates and utensils are always mismatched; at the end of a long day, sometimes Mrs. Weasley would not even bother about table mats. Everybody talked loudly at the dinner table, and when all seven children were having meal at home, someone had to sit in front of the television because their table would be full.

Today at the breakfast table, the difference between her world --and Tom’s-- felt even more unbearable than usual.

“Thank you for this,” she muttered as she began eating.

“Couldn’t let you starve,” he replied.

They proceed eating their breakfast in silence. Ginny wondered if she should try to strike a conversation. But whenever she glanced into Tom’s direction, he seemed to be focussing intently on his meal. She guessed that he was not one for conversations during mealtime, but decided to give it a go anyway. “So … Um … Do you always live alone, like this?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. How about your family? Do you meet them often?”

“I grew up in an orphanage. I thought you know.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

Her brain urged her to stop, but her mouth had a mind of its own. “So … I saw this really pretty girl on the picture,” she said, gesturing at the wall where the photograph was. “Is she your girlfriend?”

It actually broke her heart to ask this question, especially since Tom seemed to be taking his time to answer it. For a moment, he just stared at the direction of the wall, silently munching on his meal.

“You can say so,” he finally said.

“I see. You two looked really good together …,”

“You really enjoy talking, don’t you?”

Feeling hurt, Ginny bowed down her head while her brain kept on telling her so. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I am just not used to it,” Tom shrugged.

“But I am glad Gin the Catlady is here to show me the different ways to live," he added with a sugary sweet smile.

If there was something dishonest or sarcastic in his last sentence, Ginny was too mesmerised to notice it.

[ _break_ ]

Less than two hours later, Ginny found herself sitting on the passenger side of Tom’s car, going on the journey to bring her back to her family. She was wearing the dark blue jacket and jeans that she wore yesterday, but had changed her black T-shirt into a stripy one. Her orange rucksack was already put at the backseat of the car, together with Tom's leather bag and coat.

Up until this morning, the girl still dreaded the whole idea of coming home. Apart from being scared of her mother’s imminent wrath, now that she had seen herself the difference in how she and Tom live their life, she just could not bear to part with it.

But as she watched him drives, dutifully taking her home like the responsible gentleman that he is, she thought that there was really nothing to fear. Somehow she had managed to prove that her family was wrong for distrusting her, and for taking Tom as a bad man when they did not even know him.

“Anyway, before we go to your place, do you mind coming with me to meet a friend?” Tom asked. “Won’t take a long time. Just a short meeting.”

“Sure. No problem.”

“Wonderful. We’re not in a hurry, are we?”

“No, not at all.”

They both smiled at each other as the car took a turn into a direction that was the exact opposite of Ginny’s address.

Still unable to get her eyes off Tom, Ginny suddenly realised how lucky she was to meet him. Perhaps her parents’ concern was not baseless at all. How many girls of her age found themselves being stuck with a predator that they met on the internet? Yet here she was, being returned home safely by the man she had only known through their online conversations.

She should apologise to her family ---and Harry. Despite their shortcomings in dealing with this situation, they were just concerned, after all. Also, imagine the pain they had to go through to find and bring her home.

Moments later, the car moved closer to the direction of a local park. The park was surrounded with dense rows of trees, so thick that it almost become a miniature forest. There was also a parking lot nearby, where Tom stopped his car. “And this is where we meet him.”

Ginny immediately released her seat belt and prepare to get off the car. “So, who is this friend of yours? Someone from school?”

“We met at the foreign affairs office years ago,” Tom replied, taking his coat from the back seat. “It’s been a while since we last met.”

“And you guys are meeting here, so early in the morning?”

“Yeah, we are both morning people. And he likes to take morning walks around this area, so why not?”

Both of them got off the car at the same time, and Tom looked slightly surprised when he saw the girl at the other side. “Oh, Ginny. Do you mind bringing your bag with you?”

Ginny was just shutting the door closed. “Oh? Why?”

The man took a deep breath and made a gesture of checking his surroundings. His handsome face looked worried.

The parking lot was quite large and can fit up to 15 cars, but theirs was the only one parked there that morning. The street lights also just went out, in preparation for the sunrise, making the atmosphere suddenly felt a bit creepy.

“I’m just not sure if it’s safe to leave your belongings in the car.” 

“But there’s no one else around.”

Tom nodded knowingly. “Which makes it a perfect crime scene.”

Following his logic, Ginny then reopened the car door and took her rucksack out. Tom locked his car as soon as she was ready, then headed to the direction of the trees, with his coat swishing lightly behind. He also carried his leather bag with him. “Follow me.”

“I think the path is over there?” Ginny pointed to a little path that seemed to divide the forest into two parts.

“No, we go this way. We’re meeting him there.”

Even with her tendency to believe in everything that Tom is doing, Ginny thought that the whole idea of this meeting was weird. But it was none of her business, anyway. All that mattered is that she will be home very soon.

So she followed Tom into the park, carefully treading on its ground, for fear that her feet might get stuck on the roots of a tree --or something worse. Meanwhile, the man seemed very calm. He was walking with his hands in the pocket of his coat, gazing straight ahead, giving the impression that he knows the place well enough already.

“This friend of yours … how is he like?”

“He is a good man. Very hardworking and honest.”

Ginny laughed. “It sure takes a lot of hard work just to meet him.”

Tom actually smiled at the thought. “Yeah, but we are not far though. I think we can wait in here.”

He abruptly stopped at a spot where the trees seemed to be most dense. However, there was a small clearing in the middle of it, where the two of them can lay around comfortably, if they wish to.

“This looks like a nice picnic spot!” Ginny just could not resist.

“Is that so?” Tom mindlessly replied, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket.

“Yes, imagine laying the blanket in here.” Ginny walked around the spot, pointing at here and there. “I think we can bring up to four people. Everyone will be able to sit and stretch their feet.”

She continued to talk about her imaginary picnic while Tom was doing something with the handkerchief. “This is great because sometimes the heat gets really unbearable in summer, but with all these trees, it will be really breezy …”

“Uh huh …”

“This is amazing, Tom, we should try to make this happen …”

“Anyway, Ginny dear …”

She turned around. “Yes?”

“Please be quiet.”

Her eyes widened as he swung his hand into the direction of her face, with his other hand grabbing the back side of her head.

The last thing she remembered before everything turned dark was Tom’s handkerchief covering her mouth and nose, making it impossible for her to breath.

[ _break_ ]

Ginny Weasley fell into the ground, but the ground seemed to be disappearing as she was about to touch it.

As her ability to see diminished, her hearings strengthened. She could hear the winds rustling all around her, even the swooshing sound that she made as she continued to fall. In addition to her hearings, her sense of smell also heightened. She could sense the soil, the leaves, and even the air around her. But suddenly something different passed through her nose. It was sharp and sickening, with a hint of iron that reminded her of monthly cycle.

_Blood._

Her eyes slowly opened. Everything from her eyes to her limbs felt extremely heavy; it really took her a great effort just to be able to blink. The first thing she saw was the trees above, shading her from the sun like a rooftop, with some of the leaves falling to cover her body on the ground. She then tried to move her feet and her hands.

And was stunned to find something solid in her right hand.

She turned to the right and noticed the thing that has been in her palm all along. Wincing hard, she tried to pick it up and move it closer to her face.

It was a knife.

Gasping, she threw it away. The girl then tried to lift her body up in panic; her head spun so wildly she had to press her lips to prevent herself from puking.

_Why is there a knife in my hand?_

As her stomach eased up, she was finally able to see her surroundings clearly. And she almost jumped again for then she noticed that there was a man lying at her side.

The man had dark skin, an earring on one of his ears, and was wearing a set of dark blue jogging suit. As he lied on the ground, he stared blankly into space ...

And he was completely motionless.

“Sir?” Ginny felt her voice cracking. “Sir, are you …”

She crawled towards his direction with fear engulfing her every being.Once she was able to grab him, she shook him as hard as she could, hoping that he would be awaken.

But she knew that there is no hope in getting him to wake up, for there was a gaping wound right where his heart is. “Oh, God. Oh, no …”

Suddenly there were new sounds coming in. Starting with hurried footsteps, she heard shoutings coming from a distance, and these noises continued to close in on her. She also heard barking following the noises.

Putting two and two together, Ginny finally realised what kind of trouble she was in when the police surrounded her, demanding her to stand back and lift up her hands.

Less than an hour before what happened to Ginny, at the other side of the city, Tom Riddle put a telephone handset back to its place.

He was standing behind the counter of a small grocery store near his office. His phone battery had drained, but he just saw a robbery nearby and need to call the police as soon as possible. So he asked the kind elderly woman behind the counter if he can borrow their landline phone.

“Thank you very much. You might just saved a life,” he said as he walked out of the counter.

“Oh, not at all. We should thank you for taking the initiative to call. Most people nowadays would just watch, you know, with their phones and all!” said the old lady, her eyes widened.

Tom smiled, slipping a few bank notes to the counter. “Also, can I have a pack of mints …”

The old lady gladly gave what he asked for. Soon after, the man walked out of the grocery store with triumphant smile on his face.

Walking down the street, he struggled to hold his laughter back as he found himself being engulfed by this joyous feeling. Oh, how good it was to be doing something so smart and efficient like this. In just one move, he managed to get rid of not only his greatest competitor, but also that little parasite.

How long have they been "friends"? Six months? No idea. He did not give a damn. All that mattered was that he was finally free --of her nagging, her troubles. Her saccharine teenage soul.

After what happened that day, he did not think Ginny was going to be able to continue seeing the world with her rose-tinted glasses. He had ruined her innocence. He had finally destroyed her. He had, once again, succumbed to that rushing feeling. And it felt good.

_Goodbye, Gin the Catlady._

_It has been a good one._


	12. Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That thing about doors closing for a window to open? Yeah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to announce that I had just published a spin-off of this series! 
> 
> Bellatrix Lestrange showed up only once in Tricked, but I really wanted to do something about her. So here it is: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17892473
> 
> Hope you also get to enjoy this.

**Redemption**

 

After the incident at the park, everything happened so fast that Ginny can only remembered most of it as a blur. However, there were some moments that left such a great impression on her senses, that her mind decided to keep them forever in memory.

She recalled the cold of the handcuffs on her skin, and the force the policeman used to push her into the panda car. She also recalled hearing her mother’s voice at the police station as she was dragged into the interrogation room ( _That’s my daughter … What are you doing to her?_ ).

Most importantly, she could remembered being in the dimly lit room, having to explain why there was a knife in her hand --and what had happened to the man who was later identified as Kingsley Shacklebolt, an official at the Foreign Affairs Office.

In addition to being stabbed to death, the authority also found the gentleman’s wallet inside Ginny’s rucksack, leading them to believe that she had tried to rob him at knife point.

_ So you’re saying someone had put the knife in your hand. And then his wallet inside your bag. _

_ There’s no other way to explain it! _

_ Do you have any idea who did it? _

_ It must be him! H-he made me unconscious, by covering my mouth with something, and … And he’s also going to meet his friend there, so I’m sure he had planned this! _

Thanks to her testimony, and the fact that he was the last person to had been with her before the alleged robbery and murder, Tom Riddle was then called to testify at the court as a witness.

_ Mr. Riddle, would you care to explain how you came to know Miss Weasley? _

_ We first met last autumn on this online platform for writers. After that, we constantly talked to each other via online chats. Then we first met when we went to the theatre together in late January. _

_ On February 21, Miss Weasley ran away from home after a fight with her parents. She then visited your residence. _

_ It is true, Sir. I allowed Ginny to stay in my flat as it would be safer for her. I also told her that I would bring her back to her home, first thing in the morning. _

_ Then what happened in the morning? _

_ She asked me to drop her at the park. At first I rejected the idea, even though I happened to have an appointment with Mr. Shacklebolt nearby. Simply because I wanted her to return home as soon as possible. But she insisted and would not tell me why. Had I known what she intended to do, I would definitely tried to stop her. _

_ Can anyone else testify about this, Mr. Riddle? _

_ I’m afraid not. It was early in the morning and the park was empty. _

As he spoke, he directed his gaze to Ginny’s direction, who was sitting next to her attorney.

_ I realised that it was a perfect crime scene … _

Ginny had had the idea for a while, ever since she first realised that she was being framed for Shackleblot's murder. But that fleeting moment confirmed to her that Tom had definitely planned for all this. He had framed Ginny for the crime that he himself had done to his old friend; he then testified in court how everything was her doing.

He had meant to destroy her. And he aimed to do it by putting her in jail.

If anything, she felt more hurt and betrayed than angry.

Completely oblivious to her surroundings once the emotion took over her, the girl then stood up and yelled at him for being a liar. Before her attorney could stop her, she ran to Tom’s direction to attack him with all her might.

As the police officers tackled her to the ground, through her tears, she saw Mr. Weasley hugging his wife in the back, trying to shield her from the scene at the front. She could also hear the voice of Ron and her other brothers --perhaps even Harry and Hermione-- calling out her name from the crowd.

As she was carried out from the room, she managed to take a glimpse towards Tom's direction to find a sad, pitiful look on his face. As if the crime that she had done --and her reaction to his testimony-- had grieved him badly.

But when she walked out of the room, as everyone’s attention was focussed on her, Ginny noticed that the sorrowful expression had turned into a victorious grin.

That was the last time she would saw him. Ever.

[ _ break _ ]

“So, that was it,” Ginny said with finality in her tone. “That was the story of how my stupidity had led me to this place.”

She was sitting in the office with her new attorney Mr. Dumbledore, arms folded neatly on the table as if she was in a classroom, explaining to him in detail everything that had happened to her since she left home. Sitting at her opposite, the gentleman was listening to her closely, nodding as he made several notes.

"I had believed in all the good things he said to me. Never thought that he would actually use me like this," Ginny added. 

“I see. Well, thank you very much for telling me, Miss Weasley. You have been very brave throughout all this. I can only imagine your pain.”

The girl bowed down her head, smiling faintly.

Once he had put down his pen, Dumbledore's eyes looked almost twinkling as he speak. “Now … It’s my turn to talk.”

Ginny nodded, ready to listen.  Dumbledore took out a deep breath and stare into his notes. He seemed to decide on a single point. “First and foremost, I have reviewed your case, and learned that there were some important details that the prosecutor had overlooked. And it is very crucial in proving your involvement in this case, Miss Weasley.”

The girl fixed her sitting position. “S-seriously?”

“Yes. I found it outrageous that they completely ignored crucial pieces of evidence here. For example, there was a second set of footprints coming with yours into the park from its parking lot.”

“It’s his!”

Dumbledore nodded. “We would have been able to determine that had the prosecutor decided to pursue this. But unfortunately they did not. The existence of a second footprint would at least prove your point that you did not walk into the park by yourself.”

Ginny stared in disbelief as she kept on listening to his explanation.

“And then, here comes the part that I have been wanting to talk about.” Dumbledore put his hands neatly on the table.

“I happen to have a close friend at the police force, Miss Weasley. He is a very good detective, and for reasons that I cannot tell you, has been putting special attention to your case.” Dumbledore then continued by telling her how the detective had decided to keep on pursuing her case, despite the verdict, as he believed that there were many stones left unturned. He even took the time to stroll around the neighbourhood of the park, and talked to every single residents in the area.

As the result of his resilience and hard work, he was able to discover that an old man named Filch, who happened to live just across the park, had seen Tom walking out of the park into his car at the parking lot.

The old man was cleaning his cat’s sandbox when he saw this happened. He could not forget it as he thought it was really odd for a respectable gentleman to spend time at the park so early in the morning.

“‘He must be up to no good.’ That was exactly what he said,” Dumbledore said. “And Mr. Filch has agreed to testify for the court as we re-open this case.”

“So this means …” 

“Miss Weasley, you lost the case as they had not been able to provide any evidence or witness that can confirm everything that you are saying. But today, for once, you have that hope. You have that hope to prove your innocence,” Dumbledore ended.

Covering her mouth with her hands, Ginny felt that there is no way she can prevent herself from crying.

[ _ break _ ]

When her meeting with Dumbledore was done, Ginny proceeded by attending her classes and a group counselling session at the facility. She dutifully gone through all this routine as it would put her closer to her favourite time of the day: Five o’clock in the afternoon.

Ginny was always looking forward to this particular hour as it coincides with the visiting hour.

Usually her mother would show up with one of her brothers tagging along. She would bring her a box of food, fresh clothes, and some new books to read, and updated her with the latest happenings at their home and small business. Her brothers usually just nodded along to whatever their mother was saying; they were honestly afraid that their sense of humour would be too offensive for the situation. 

The family would close their short meeting with a long, deep hug. Ginny could never stop apologising: For lying to her mother, for not being able to protect herself. For getting them into this situation. Often with tears on her eyes, her mother would whispered for her to stay strong, and that she loved her very much, despite everything. Her brothers would then tapped her shoulder, telling her that they were looking forward to the day she would return. But until that day comes, Percy really enjoyed sleeping in her bedroom.

Today brought another new surprise for the Weasley girl. When she walked into the family meeting room where tables are provided for inmates to sit with their families, instead of her mother and one of her sons,  she found Harry waiting patiently for her in one of those tables. 

“Hey. You’re here again.” 

This marked the boy’s second visit to the centre. His first was only two days ago, accompanied by Ron, when he brought a small potted plant for her to keep. He was extremely nervous and spent most of the meeting staring at his own hands.

“Yeah, I … I don’t think I’ve gotten to say a lot of things in my last meeting. So I come again. Is it okay?” Harry asked, standing up as she arrived at the table.

“No problem at all. Always good to have a visitor.” Ginny smiled weakly, taking a seat. “I keep your gift beside my bed, by the way.”

Harry returned to his seat and his eyes brightened at her announcement. “Oh? Okay. I'm glad. Haha. I really had no idea what to give.”

He had initially planned to bring her a basket of fruits, but luckily his godfather Sirius reminded him that Ginny was not hospitalised. At the very last minute, he bought the plant at a nearby supermarket.

“Yeah, I like them. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

The two smiled at each other, then proceeded to stare at the table nervously. For a few fleeting moments, Harry stole a glance to Ginny’s direction, trying to read her mood. Once he decided that she seemed perfectly calm, he let it out. “Actually, I’m here to apologise.”

“Eh?” 

“Yeah, um … I have been acting like a smart-arse. Telling your parents about … About that man. If you guys weren’t having that fight, perhaps you wouldn’t need to run away from home. And all this …”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Harry, seriously.”

“But Ginny …”

“Harry. This isn’t your fault. Okay?”

The boy went quiet.

“It is my fault, and mine alone. Okay? I’m the one who ran away from home, and the one who made the decision to …,” Ginny continued. “To visit him. Instead of returning home right away. That’s how this happened.”

Harry sighed. “I know. But I still feel guilty, because … You know. The fact that you feel the need to be with him. The fact that you befriended him at the first place …”

His hands moved wildly. “I feel like … If only we, your brother and I, were treating you better, perhaps you don’t need to do this. You don’t need to … Seek for that attention somewhere  else. You could have gotten it from us! Yet we always treated you like a kid, not thinking how it might had hurt you.”

This part actually surprised Ginny.

“And for that, I apologise.” His eyes were staring intently at her.

Ginny sighed, tapping her hand softly on the table. “Okay, I guess we both should stop apologising to each other. I don’t think there’ll be any trophy for that.”

Harry bursted out laughing. The girl grinned.

“Thank you for doing this, though.” Ginny said. “It … it really made me happy.”

Finding a new reason to smile, Ginny found herself reaching out her hand to Harry’s direction. Which he eagerly welcomed.

Words failed her as she closed her eyes, adsorbing the warmth radiating from his touch. His thumb stroke her fingers gently as his grip on her hands got tighter; it was as if he was making a promise.

To never let her fall again.

There was this feeling that this is where her hands were supposed to be: At a forgiving and accepting hand, which patiently looks out for her. Instead of one who needs to hurt her before it can welcome her.

She wondered why it took her forever to get to this place.

“I’ve been having nightmares.” She suddenly blurted it out.

He looked panicked again. “Really? Are you okay?” 

“I’m okay, they’re just … Nightmares, after all. But they can be scary.”

Harry stared at her closely. “Was it about him?”

“Yes. Always,” Ginny sighed. She played around with Harry’s fingers.  “Sometimes I saw him walking towards my direction. He was smiling, and he didn’t say anything, but when he got near me, he just … Strangled me. I woke up running out of breath. And sometimes he …”

Blushing, Ginny lowered her head. It felt inappropriate for her to tell him that sometimes, she _did_ dream of his embrace. Of how his hands hold her as they dance, and that clean scent of aftershave whenever she got close to him. His voice whenever he leaned closer to her, whispering her something. The most personal spaces in his place, where she had spent the night in. She would woke up feeling really sick, and embarrassed that this kind of dream still happened, despite what he had done.

Interestingly, it was as if Harry was able to read her mind. “Wait, um … Sorry. But you guys didn’t …”

Ginny arched her eyebrows.

“Sorry, but you know … He didn’t do …  _ Anything _ … to you, right?” He seemed even more worried than before.

Ginny shook her head. “Oh. No, not at all. It’s not like  _ that _ . We didn’t do that.” 

She did not think that Harry needs to know how she had once slept so soundly in his hug, but she felt the need to tell him the next point. “That’s the thing, Harry. He treated me really well. When we first chatted, he was being so … So friendly, and understanding. He made me feel like … Like he’s my bestest friend.”

Harry moved closer to her direction.

“And even before the incident happened … He was being really kind to me,” she continued. “Well, except for the part when he slammed my head to a wall. And when he framed me for murder.” 

This only made Harry tightened his grip on her hand even more. “I’m really sorry.”

Ginny gave him another weak smile. Then something passed through  her mind, and her eyes suddenly brightened. “But guess what? I actually have a good news …”

_ [break] _

The sun had just risen, but Tom Riddle already found himself up and awake in a park near his flat. He was wearing a grey hoodie and a dark-coloured track pants, and had his running shoes on. As soon as he had decided on a playlist to listen to, he plugged his earphone and began his morning run.

His usual preference of smooth jazz and skillful classic were changed into blaring, angry East Coast hip-hop. These Americans sure had a way to express deep-seated anger, and he appreciated that. Definitely suited moments when he needed an extra shot of adrenaline --but could not afford to lay on his bed and think of some more gory parts of his past.

He had been only running halfway when he found a gentleman --with horrendous scar on his face and leather eye patch-- blocking his way, standing confidently with his hands inside his coat.

“Good morning, Mr. Riddle.” Alastor Moody started to walk closer to his direction, as the younger man was forced to a halt.

“What do you want?”

After an ambush at the parking lot months ago, and the hassle that he had brought to him for having to testify as a witness at the court, Tom did not feel any need to be extra polite to him. Especially since the man had also pointed out inconsistencies in his testimony and the things he said when they first met, when Tom said that he had never met Ginny in real life before.

“Whoa, Mr. Riddle! Can’t a person enjoy his morning stroll anymore?” Moody pretended to look hurt. 

“I just found it interesting that I keep on bumping into you,” Tom replied, turning off his playlist.

Moody nodded passionately, crossing his arms in front of his body. “Yes, yes … I actually felt the same way, Mr. Riddle. It’s like … Our path continues to cross, somehow.”

Tom eyed him suspiciously. Noticing this, Moody chuckled softly. “Mr. Riddle … At one’s career, there are times when … A humble policeman like me get to find something interesting to delve his mind into.”

“Really?” Tom did not even try to hide the mockery in his tone.

“Yes, yes! Indeed. There is always something that takes you out of your daily routine. And this time it is quite massive.”

“Because I was involved in it.”

Moody’s remaining eye widened; he seemed genuinely surprised at Tom’s reaction. But he immediately pulled himself together. With a knowing smile, the detective allowed himself to move closer to the gentleman’s direction. “A senior official at the Foreign Affairs was found dead, so was his son. Many insists that this case was a murder-suicide, but I happen to have a different opinion. Then, months later, another official was robbed by a teenager in the park, and got killed in this incident. I also believe that this case is not what it seemed to be.”

His voice got quieter as he got closer to Tom. “And many, many years ago, a young medical student went missing. God knows what else is going to show up on my list, Mr. Riddle.”

Tom smiled. He changed his standing position. “Let’s just say that … This is hypothetically speaking, of course … But let’s just say that I was indeed involved in all of those … Incidents.”

He also leaned closer to Moody’s direction. “You have neither a witness nor an evidence, Mr. Moody.”

Surprisingly for Tom, this time Moody actually pulled himself away. And laughed out loud.

“Seriously?”

“Mr. Riddle! My good Lord,” Moody actually had to wipe some tears away. “It was a convenient idea, isn’t it? How I love to entertain that!”

Once again, he moved closer to the other man’s direction, and there was victory on his smile. “Because this time is different, Mr. Riddle. There is a witness. And he is ready to talk.”

Tom froze. His eyes darkened as he eyed Moody closely, closing in the distance between them. “You’re not serious.”

Moody lifted up both of his hands. “You’ll see, Mr. Riddle. You’ll see real soon.”

Suddenly unsure if he can deal this immediately, Tom decided that he is going to ignore Moody's threat ---and figure out something at the comfort of his home. So he put his earphone and continued his morning run.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t even try to run, Mr. Riddle!”

Moody was so pleased with his terrible pun.


	13. Bohemian Rhapsody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A poor boy who needs no sympathy. His time has come.

**Bohemian Rhapsody**

Tom Riddle thought that he had known himself enough to be able to predict his own emotional reaction, when he received the bad news from that son of a bitch yesterday morning.

Like many times before, he would be engulfed with rage, so much that his mind would no longer recognise the violent moves that his own hands are making. Then he would spent the next hours sitting by himself, bitter and spent, letting the poison infiltrated his soul to eternity.

But today, what he felt was numbness instead.

Numbness so cold and empty that when he walked into the kitchen this morning, he could not bring himself to prepare anything but a cup of tea. Strong. Sugarless. Made with filtered water and stray leaves --no instant tea bag, please.

Because for once in a long time, he felt like a helpless child again.

At one point in his life, he had managed to learn about his true heritage. That he was actually a descendant of one of those old money families; magnates whose fortune goes back to the days of the British Raj. Unfortunately, being illegitimate, the boy was unable to claim his rightful place in the family tree. As a result of his father’s sinful dalliance, with a mother who had neither the means nor the mind to raise a child, he was not even supposed to exist.

He may have had the breeding of an upper class society member --the patrician physical features, intellectual giftedness, and even the social aptitude. But he had to be casted away to an orphanage at Vauxhall Road, forgotten even by the two people who had brought him to the world. Left to stare grudgingly at the kid outside of the orphanage’s window, who was walking down the street with a balloon in his hand --and his parents by his sides.

Until he learned of the game, and how good he was with it. By far, the game had been his _raison d'être_ , the only reason why all the struggle --or the deviance-- was worth it.

So why couldn’t it be his saviour today?

Tom spun his cup a little, trying to consider his options. He owned the game enough to have it working his way, and had peers who would be more than willing to have him on their side. In other words, he would not starve. So he should seize this opportunity.

With the new intake of inspiration, he then took the last gulp of his tea, washed the cup over the sink, and dried his hands with a nearby kitchen towel.

From what he understood of the situation, a person had witnessed the crime that he had done, the one which Ginny Weasley was later convicted for. He had no idea who this witness was, and what he (or she) had actually seen. But he knew that he had to figure out the worst already.

So this time, he needed to do it differently. In the past, he would have personally searched for that witness already, ensuring his eradication. But even Tom knew his place sometimes. His position is risky; he had just managed to secure his job at the office, and he could not afford to carry too many baggages. Especially since that detective seemed to be able to sniff his trace already. This battle was no longer worth the fight.

As soon as he was out of the kitchen, the gentleman picked up his smartphone to make this reluctant call. Which he had honestly been preparing since a long time ago --just in case.

Once the call was done, Tom headed to his study where he busied himself with his laptop.

There was a piece of envelop nearby, which had been ripped open to reveal another letter summoning him to testify at the court, set to be held today. He took the letter up from time to time, seemingly referring to its content for whatever he was working on his laptop.

He suddenly realised that he would need his wallet. So he stopped typing and walked out to the living room, where his coat was. He digged through the pocket of the coat, dropping his car key and a piece of paper to the floor, which he later picked and read for a while. Eventually he found his wallet in the other pocket, so he brought it out and walked back to the study.

On his way, he passed by his personal wall of fame and stared at every item, one by one.

_A king, though he may be banished from his own realm, will always be a king._

He thought he had read something about that in _King Lear_ , or something. With a smile, he walked in into his study and closed its door.

[ _break_ ]

It was only nine in the morning, yet Hermione found herself sitting in a courtroom with Ron by her side, uncomfortably trying to adjust his sitting position to suit the wooden bench better. On her other side, she had put her tote bag on the bench, as if reserving the spot for someone else.

In the front row, she could see Mr. and Mrs Weasley, sitting together with their sons Percy, Fred and George. They occasionally huddled to whisper together, and Mrs. Weasley would turn to the back to make sure that her other son and his friend were all okay. Hermione would give her a polite smile as Ron would be too busy with his sitting position.

A moment later, she heard hurried footsteps closing in on her, and found Harry rushing to sit next to her. “What did I miss?”

“You’re just in time,” Hermione replied, taking her bag away from Harry’s side. As soon as he hit the bench, the great wooden door in the middle opened to revealed the person they have been waiting for.

All eyes moved towards the aisle as Ginny walked down to sit beside her attorney at the front. She was wearing a white shirt, tucked into a grey tweed pants with black formal flat shoes. Her hair, now longer than ever, was combed neatly and fixed with a black hair band that her mother had brought to her days before. Before she got into her seat, her gaze wandered off to the direction of the trio.

And she smiled.

A smile so warm that Harry was certain the whole room could see him blush.

Not only that she had given them all a smile, she had even managed to flash a victory sign with her two fingers.

“It’s like watching her get married. But worse,” Ron muttered, dropping any thoughts from his seat.

“But she’s optimistic, Ron! Take a look at that,” Hermione whispered excitedly. “We should also be positive.”

“Yeah. We is,” Harry added. His brain was not really in place.

Soon after Ginny sat on her place, the audience are being told to stand up. The judge got into the podium, his hooked nose and dark hair looked totally mismatched with his silvery wig. But he seemed really at home with his black robe, so we all should let him be. Though one might question the need for such attire in a courtroom in the 21st century.

The session was opened with a speech by Ginny’s advocate.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Your honour. We are here today for nothing but to see justice being served,” Dumbledore began.

Harry swore Hermione looked almost orgasmic at the sight of a good opening speech.

“Last autumn, young miss Ginevra Weasley, like many people of her age, met someone on the so-called online platform. On the internet. They talked about many things; from shared interests to advice on how to deal with teenage problems. My client was led to believe that she had found a reliable, trustworthy friend. But as you may have guests, this is is the beginning of trouble,” he continued.

“When her parents discovered her secret friendship, Miss Weasley ran away from home to meet with her supposed best friend. But unfortunately, instead of receiving the protection that she deserved, she was set up and framed for a crime that she had absolutely no knowledge of.”

“So, today, ladies and gentlemen, I am going to prove to you two things. One, that the authority had neglected crucial pieces of evidence, that directly prove the accuracy of Miss Weasley’s statement.” Dumbledore picked up a piece of paper that seemed to be a photograph of the park’s ground. “With your permission, Your Honour …”

He then placed the piece of paper on the judge’s podium, who took it carefully. “This is the first piece of evidence. It prove that Miss Weasley was being truthful when she said that she did not go to the park by herself, as can be seen by the footprints on the ground. The second piece of evidence is the emergency phone call made by an anonymous caller, reporting a robbery in the park that was allegedly done by Miss Weasley. The main problem with this phone call? It was made from a place that was at least 10 kilometer away from the location.”

He handed the second piece of paper --a transcript of the phone call-- to the judge. Everybody in the room was silent. Dumbledore seemed to be eyeing them closely; his speech seemed to have produced the effect that he desired. “Now moving on to the second part of my speech. In addition to the pieces of evidence … We would also like to present a new witness.”

One or two people in the room actually gasped at the statement. Their gaze soon followed the movement of an elderly man with a permanently sour look on his face. He was sitting in the row where the witnesses are supposed to wait for their turn to testify, but he looked as if he would rather go home, make a cuppa, then take a nap.

Suddenly aware that there was supposed to be another person in the witness stand, Harry immediately turned to Hermione’s side. “Anyway, why is Tom Riddle …”

“Ssst. Harry! Ron and I had agreed. We’re not going to mention his name, ever, again,” Hermione responded.

Harry rolled his eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It is not.”

“Since when you and Ron ever agree on anything?”

“Well …”

“Anyway, that’s not really my question.”

"What?"

“I mean, Ri- That man,” Harry corrected grudgingly. “He was supposed to come, right? But he didn’t.”

“Yes, yes! And that’s interesting because it’s going to backlash on him, not being present …”

Harry found himself being more alert than before. He adjusted his position to completely face Hermione. “What do you mean?”

“Once you have agreed to testify, you have to show up in court when summoned. Otherwise they can arrest you.”

Harry went quiet for a moment. “They can?”

“Yeah. For two years, if I’m not mistaken.”

Harry turned to face the front side of the courtroom again. “Two years … Hum! Rather short considering what he did.”

“Well, it’s only for not showing up in court. If they can prove him guilty for the rest …” Hermione made a neck-slashing gesture with her hand.

“Yeah, but he’s not even here. Like, where is he? How are they going to punish him?”

"Why are you suddenly so angry? Calm down.”

“He deserves the worst. Don’t you think so?”

Before Hermione could answer that question, Dumbledore was already done with his speech, and the session moved to the part where they hear Filch’s testimony.

“Mr. Argus Filch. Here with me, I have a map of the area where you claim to have been living in.” Out of nowhere, Dumbledore took out a large poster depicting the area surrounding the park. The image seemed to be taken from a GPS, and it seemed to be dominated by housing areas. “Can you tell all of us here which one is your house?”

Almost reluctantly, Filch pointed his finger to a spot in the picture.

“A-ha!” Dumbledore looked as if he just found a secret little toy inside his meal. “Just across the street from the parking lot of the park!”

Filch nodded lazily.

“Then I would like to imagine that you have a good view of the comings and goings there!”

“Yeah.”

“So tell me, Mr. Filch. What did you see on the morning of February 21?”

Jumping out of his lethargy, the old man suddenly looked as if he was going to explode in anger. “That good-for-nothing boy that my sister is so fond of … I have told him since the day before to fix the sliding door from our living room to the garden. Why? Because Mrs. Norris --my dear sweet Mrs. Norris-- she needs to do a number two every morning, and I need to be able to get her out, because her sandbox is near the garden shed …”

This seemed to go on forever.

“But because the sliding door was broken, I had to take the front door to bring her out … But that was when I saw him …”

Dumbledore moved a step closer towards Filch. “Whom did you see, Mr. Filch?”

“A young gentleman --the city type-- walking into a black sedan. And I thought, this is suspicious. Why is he walking out from that direction, you know, where the trees are, and not from the path in the park? And it’s weekdays. People don’t usually go to parks …”

“Can you describe him for us, Mr. Filch?”

“Well, yes. He seemed tall. Black, wavy hair. Wearing suits and the like. The only person in that place at that hour.”

“Would you be able to recognise his face, if I show you a photo, Mr. Filch?”

The old man went quiet. “I … I don’t think so. It was quite far away.”

Dumbledore nodded. He then produced another piece of paper. “But if you show you his image in this position, would you recognise him?”

Filch received the image that the advocate handed to him, which was of Tom Riddle walking towards his car in his flat’s basement. Anyone can imagine he must had looked the same when doing it in the park.

Filch looked like he might faint. “Yes … Yes! That is him! It’s the gentleman!”

Excited murmurs started to develop among the crowd. Both Harry, Ron, and Hermione inched their body forward, as if wanting to get adsorbed into the situation.

Harry breathlessly turned towards Hermione. “Okay, this means …”

“Oh my God. He lied, Harry. He straight up lied. He didn’t just drop Ginny there and left. He was inside the park with her,” Hermione replied, looking as if she was going to beat Tom herself after this.

“So … Ginny’s telling the truth, right? All this time, she’s been honest?” Ron jumped in.

“Well, it may not directly proved that, it’s a bit more complicated. But the witness’ statement is definitely in line with hers, and contradicted … that man’s. This is where it gets interesting,” Hermione explained.

Meanwhile, at the front of the courtroom, Dumbledore smiled faintly. “There will be no more questions from me, Your Honour.”

[ _break_ ]

Here comes the moment that each of them had been waiting for: Ginny reading the plea for her freedom.

Once being called, she stood up and adjusted the microphone to her height. Clearing her throat, she straightened up a piece of paper filled with handwritten texts. Some of them are lined with a small arrow here and there, highlighting the parts that she was supposed to stress.

The girl had written her own speech on pieces of papers in her spare time in the detention centre, and she had shown the result to Dumbledore, who applauded it. _It is true what they say about your writing skills_ , he said. _You will be fine._

But standing up in front of a judge, who is watching her closely from his seat with his cold, calculating stare, Ginny was not so sure about her being fine. She never knew just how good her skill with words was. She never had a proper mentor and after everything that he had done, Ginny basically considered the things that Tom had said about her writings to be lies. Just like everything associated with him.

Now she had to depend on her writing skills for her life. Apart from that the words that she had chosen, she was also unsure if the direction that she was taking with the plea was the right one, even though Dumbledore himself had helped her with it.

She was also fully aware of all the eyes watching behind her back, praying and keeping their hopes high for her. Well-meaning as they are, Ginny felt like telling them to stop, for they have no idea how hard it was for her to …

But to hell with it.

She wanted to get out of this situation. Cleaning up her name. Cutting down any links to Tom Riddle. Reclaiming her life back. Having a future again.

And she will do it now.

So the girl took a deep breath, keep her mind focussed on the text, and begin reading her plea. “Your honour, I would like to begin my plea by expressing my deepest apology.”

The room was quiet.

“As a teenager, I considered myself to have sufficient knowledge in how to protect myself. At home and in school. In groups, or by myself. And most importantly, online and offline,” she continued.

“Against my better judgement, I decided to ignore the advice and warnings given by my family and friends, to be wary of strangers. And to stay away from people with harmful intention. By doing so, I have exposed myself to danger and put myself in a situation … That had threatened both my safety. And future.”

Ginny took a deep breath. “For this I apologise. To my parents. My brothers. Our family. And my friends.”

At the seat, Mrs. Weasley made a gesture as if she was going to reach out to her daughter, but her husband hugged her even tighter.

“I acknowledge my mistakes. But today, standing here in this courtroom, I would also like to say …”

She went quiet for a while.

“That I know my truth. I live in it. And I am fighting for it.”

At this point, Ginny had gathered enough strength to lift her chin up, and stare at the judge directly in his eyes as she finished her plea.

“And the truth is that I have never attempted, or even intended, to harm Mr. Kingsley Shacklebolt in any way. I have never known him and would never do anything to hurt him and his family. I am innocent, and have been wrongly accused of this heinous crime.”

Even as she stopped to take a deep breath, she maintained her eye contact with the judge. “My hope is that Your Honour would consider releasing me from the punishment that has been unfairly decided on me.”

Nobody knew who started it first, but somewhere in the back someone had started to clap for her. The judge had to call for order, but the applause only grew louder, forcing Ginny to turn to the audience to see her parents in proud tears, and her brothers cheering at her as if it was the good old days and she just won a lacrosse match. At the back, right beside Hermione clapping heartily for her, was him --smiling softly and silently mouthing “I love you” to her.

After the break, when Judge Severus Snape finally declare Ginny a free girl, the cheers only grew louder.

[ _break_ ]

With his absence from the court, and his statements being proven to be lies, the fate of Tom Riddle is pretty much sealed.

One day after the court session ended, in the early hours, Detective Moody found himself walking in the corridor of a flat with some of his best men. His steps were certain and strong; he gazed straight ahead into his destination. This is the mission that he had been aiming to complete, and he was sure of his imminent victory.

The group then stopped in front of one particular door.

“Mr. Riddle. This is the police. Open the door.” His voice was so loud that it was almost unnecessary for him to knock the door.

No answer came, but Moody kept on trying. “Mr. Riddle …”

He gestured to his men, giving them signs to get ready. “Careful, gentlemen. He might looked like a pretty boy, but our target here is quite dangerous …”

The door was then kicked open, and the policemen immediately broke into the flat. With his authoritative air, Moody followed them in, with great hope of finding his target inside. Once he was in, his attention was drawn into the objects inside the flat.

He started off with the shoe rack on his right side. There were not that many shoes on it and they were all neatly arranged, with only one pair seemed to be missing. On the left side, the kitchen seemed to be squeaky clean. There was a cup placed near the sink, as if being left to dry after being cleaned, but there was no other sign of the kitchen having been used.

Moody and his team continued their move into the living room, where there was a large leather sofa and a massive bookshelf. Everything seemed to be in the right place; the only thing that seemed to have gone wrong is a large crack on the television screen.

Moody picked up his walkie-talkie. “Secure the parking lot.”

He then gave information about Tom’s car, and instructed his men to make sure that the car was in place before he walked into a room immediately identified as the gentleman’s study.

He stopped for a while. There will be plenty to dig here.

The study was contained even more bookshelves, and the detective wondered if his target actually had other things to do than reading books. There was a small table with a laser printer on top of it, just under the window. And right in the middle of the room, as if it were an island in the ocean, was a large wooden desk with matching chair.

Standing near the chair and putting on his rubber gloves, Moody observed every single object placed on that desk. 

He began with the laptop placed neatly in the middle of it, before noticing the smartphone and iPad nearby. All of them were shut down; Moody recognised the phone as Tom’s, as he had seen him with it when they met at the jogging track days ago. The iPad was also obviously his, as his name was engraved on its cover.

“Please take these to IT and have them checked.” Moody instructed. The fact that an old millennial like Tom would left his essential gadgets lying around in his empty flat made him uneasy.

He continued to keep a close watch on the things on the desk. Everything about the flat is so squeaky clean, so it is interesting that the desk was the only spot where there seemed to be plenty of activities. There were a pile of books on one corner, different types of stationeries near it, and another piles of papers in the other corner. With his gloves on, Moody checked on the papers, one by one.

They were mostly rough drafts or outlines for the prime minister’s speeches, but Moody discovered one set that was printed from the internet. It seemed to be an airline e-ticket, with its first page missing. Moody recognised the airline logo as a flag carrier of a small Balkan state; the payment details included Tom’s name and address. The payment was dated yesterday, when the court was in session.

HIs walkie-talkie buzzed into life. “Sir. Report. The car is here. The security said he never saw the target leave this building.”

“Copy that. Thank you.”

Soon it was his mobile phone’s turn to rang. “Moody here. He’s not in the office? They said he’s on leave!? All right. Noted. Thank you.”

“Sir, we have checked his bedroom and bathroom,” a young policeman interrupted. “Everything is in place, but there are these shirts and trousers on his bed, sir. Like when people are packing to leave.”

The detective connected the facts in his mind. The gadgets that he left behind. The shirts on his bed. The car that he did not take. His absence from the office. No one saw him leaving. The e-ticket with the first page missing.

Tom Riddle had escaped.

Moody has never felt so defeated.

[ _break_ ]

The large, steel door shut behind her, leaving Ginny out in the world for the very first time in months. She stood at the entrance with the potted plant in her hand, her rucksack on her back, and a large canvas bag on her feet.

She had lost a little bit of weight and her hair had grown at least an inch longer since this story began. The girl was wearing the hoodie and jeans that she had worn when she first left the house months ago. They still fit her just fine physically, the way her orange rucksack also functioned perfectly. But there was something uncomfortable on its surface when she wore them. Perhaps they had adsorbed too much negative energy, or something of that sort.

She was thinking about disposing them once she arrived at home when she took a look around, trying to take everything in.

“Oh. Wow. It's real. I’m out.”

The large parking lot in front of her. The grey, cloudy sky. The brown, thinning trees, getting itself ready for winter. Nothing about these images was very pretty, but she stared at it as if a painting maestro had drawn it exclusively for her.

Her eyes lit up even more when a blue Ford Anglia moved in through the parking gate, sliding as fast as it could to her direction. The car stopped; a man got off from the driver’s side to wave at Ginny. He was tall and skinny, and whatever remained of his hair was bright red ---like Ginny’s.

“Dad! Oh, Dad!”

“My Ginny!” Mr. Weasley immediately welcomed his only daughter in his hug. “Oh, how I miss you!”

“You came! Where’s Mom? The others?”

Mr. Weasley moved his index finger. “They’re all waiting at home! Come, let us go now!”

He then helped his daughter moved her things into the car, and soon the two took a long ride home. Mr. Weasley dominated the whole conversation. He talked about his work at the post office (“I have a new boss!”), his wife’s new fish-and-chips menu (“Even better than last year’s Christmas special!), and the latest trouble caused by Fred and George (“I honestly thought they’d be the first of my kids to get to jail … No offense, honey!”).

Ginny listened attentively, but after a while her attention was drawn to the view outside. Once they had left the countryside, the houses were closer to each other and the shops were more approachable.

The girl had passed this area several times in her life, and she could not help noticing that some things were different than how she usually found them to be. “I didn’t realise that there’s a new shopping centre here."

“They just opened last month, dear.” He was smiling, but his smile also looked sad.

They drove past her school, and the sights became even more familiar after that. Here, the changes seemed even more apparent to her eyes. “Dad, what happened to Mr. Ollivander’s mobile phone store? Why is it closed?”

“Oh, sweetheart … Mr. Ollivander died two weeks ago.”

“What! How?”

“He’s very old, sweetheart. I think beyond 80.”

Ginny sighed, shaking her head slowly. Seemed like the world had continued to turn as she was being stuck inside the centre. “I wonder what else I have missed …”

Mr. Weasley did not know how to respond to that, but thankfully they were closing in to their destination. One more turn, and familiar sight was about to greet Ginny home …

“The shop!”

Standing proudly between a bank and (now) an ice cream store was Auntie Molly’s Fish and Chips shop, with its logo swinging happily on its blue door. The shop’s window had a hand-drawn painting of Mrs. Weasley, holding a plate of fish-and-chips, and the small blackboard that was usually placed on the sidewalk at the moment said “CLOSED FOR PRIVATE EVENT.”

Mr. Weasley parked his car right in front of the store, and Ginny did not waste any time waiting for her father to finish taking out her stuff. She ran as fast as she could to its door, opening it (“ _ding_!”), savouring the fragrant scents of something being fried … and opening her eyes to find familiar faces.

Ron was the first person that she saw; he was wearing an apron and was putting a bowl of salad on a table. As soon as he saw her, he became hysterical, and ran towards the back of the room to notice everyone of her presence.

Ginny slowly walked in and noticed that all the tables had been arranged around the dining room’s wall. The chairs had also been arranged to make sure that guests can sit without taking too much space. There were balloons placed in several strategic spots in the dining room, and a big banner of “WELCOME HOME GINNY” was installed on a wall.

Ginny counted all the faces that she recognised in the room: There was Percy, Fred, George, Tonks, Hermione, a new waitress, Luna, Neville, McGonagall and some teachers from the school, some of their neighbours …

And sitting proudly in the middle of the room, where a large birthday cake was placed, was her mother.

It seems like all the sounds in the world have disappeared when she laid her eyes on her. With a smile on her face, Mrs. Weasley slowly got up from her chair, and opened her arms wide. “Is that my daughter? Is she coming home?”

Losing all her words, the girl rushed into her mother’s hug.

“Oh, sweetheart … I miss you so much!”

“Mom! Mom ... I’m home.”

She let go of her mother’s hug to stare into her face, trying to see all the details on it. There were more grey hair than she could remembered, and her complexion looked like someone who had worked (and cried) non-stop. But her eyes were as warm as it has always been, and Ginny felt as if her body was overflowing with emotions.

“Mom. I … I’m so sorry. For everything. I …”

“Ssst. Sweetheart,” Mrs. Weasley put her hands on her daughter’s cheeks. “We don’t talk about the past today. Okay? We’re moving on to the future.”

The mother and daughter smiled at each other, before returning to hug each other deeply. Everyone else in the room were almost in tears when Ron reminded them that there are fish-and-chips ready and that these former marine creatures did not sacrifice their life for them to stand around and cry.

Soon after, even with meals in hand, everyone seemed to want a piece of Ginny’s hug. She tried her best to embrace each of them, one by one, but she could not help noticing that one person had been missing.

She could not prevent herself from staring into the door from time to time.

[ _break_ ]

He had asked the taxi driver to stop as far as possible from the meeting point, and allowed himself to walk through the heavy downpour.

His leather shoes made a splashing noise as he walked down the steep river bank, moving closer to the overflowing river. He started to feel wetness seeping through his shoes. Cursing to himself, he reminded himself that even if it was completely dry, the soil in the area would be muddy anyway. And he was being stupid for thinking about using these shoes.

Tom Riddle stopped himself and lifted his black umbrella slightly, trying to understand his surrounding better.

He was standing by the river side, in a less cheerful area of London, where the grass was almost as tall as his knees. The river flowed through the rain angrily, carrying with it God-knows-what kind of rage that the city has been brewing in secret. And right next to him was the bridge, solid and sturdy in its solitude, standing proud over the river’s rage.

This was their meeting point.

Tom walked into under the bridge, where the promised meeting was supposed to happen.

It was certainly drier there, but he would not call it a very comfortable place. Apart from being dark, he could still hear the river flowing angrily nearby. Threatening to swallow him through a single miscalculated step.

Feeling relieved by the sudden dryness, he folded the umbrella while lamenting the droplets of water on his coat. “Great choice for a meeting place. Guess nobody meets in a cafe anymore.”

A figure standing a few meters to his front made a slight movement.

“If I was not so impressed, by the fact that you got to sneak in that note inside my coat …,” he continued. “I would not even bother.”

The figure stayed quiet. Tom stared at his opponent, trying his best to catch a glimpse of the figure through the darkness. It was almost certainly a male, but there is nothing else that he could tell from this light. It was obvious that this is the reason why he chose this very spot to meet.

He sighed. “All right. What do you have to tell me?”

Once again he was met with silence.

“I would appreciate it if you would just tell me straight away. I imagine that you are a rather … well-informed person,” he continued. “So you would know about my situation.”

He may have imagined it, but Tom seriously thought he can hear the sounds of siren in the background. The city was out hunting for him; this knowledge --and the anxiety that came with it-- could do strange things even to a sane mind.

He was honestly aching to get himself out of London, as soon as possible. He had left fake footprints in his flat to lead the policemen into thinking that he had dodged his arrest and flown to somewhere in Albania --but the truth is that he would be hiding in the countryside, somewhere in the North, bidding for his time. Starting afresh, with the help of his powerful friends.

Meanwhile, the figure still did not say anything, but Tom noticed another movement.

This is where he lost his patience. The gentleman dropped his umbrella, then sprang to his opponent as fast as he could to attack him. He was determined to at least reveal his identity, stripping him off the privilege that the darkness had provided him.

But he was forced to stop by a click.

Tom stopped. He knew very well what the cold, hard thing that was being pressed against his abdomen was.

Unexpectedly, he laughed instead.

The figure pressed the gun even further.

“Whoa. So you’re playing this game?” Tom lifted up both of his hands, as if surrendering. “Impressive. Where did you get that? The deep web?”

He too was not a stranger to a window shopping session there.

“Interesting …” Tom muttered. A strange, victorious grin showed up on face. “But I wonder if you actually know how to use it?”

He could swear there was a hint of doubt on the gun’s touch.

“I don’t know what you want, but … If you wish to kill me …,” he gazed at his abdomen. “That won’t do.”

He moved closer to the figure, feeling the cold pressing in further. “You need to find the right spot …,” he whispered. There was something almost alluring in his voice. “But you can’t. Right? Because that’s what you are …”

“You are a sad, mindless fuck who seriously believed that he got something. Against. Me,” Tom continued, his voice rose from a whisper. “You seriously thought you can just point a gun on me and have me killed.”

He made gun-shape with his two fingers and pointed them to his head. “Bang! And then Tom Marvolo Riddle is no more! You think it’s that easy? Have you ever tried to kill a person!?”

He was yelling on top of his lung now. “I imagine you haven’t, because a tiny, pathetic soul like yours …”

_ BANG. _

It took him more than a second to realise what just happened to him. First there was a pressure. Then there was nothing but blinding pain.

The gun was still smoking when Tom fell to the ground.

The figure made another move, moving further from his direction.

With one hand on his abdomen, trying to stop blood from gushing out, Tom struggled to look up. Using his remaining strength to stare at the face of his killer. Staring deviantly at the face of authority, even in his very last moments ...

His eyes widened when he finally got to see a glimpse of the shape of his head. “You! You …”

_ BANG. _

The second shot gone through his head.

And the gentleman is no more. 

He fell so close into the river that half of his body was in the water already, his blood adding curious red streak to the flowing current. It would only take minutes for him to get washed away, or if he wished to, the shooter can add a little kick to speed up the process. Erasing any proof of the man’s existence --until one day, the river decided to reveal it back to the world. If ever.

Interestingly, as Tom’s lifeless body fell once again into the ground, so was the figure who shot him.

The young man dropped the smoking gun into the ground as his hands shook terribly. He lifted them up slowly to his face, as if trying to understand what he had just done. His messy jet-black hair stuck on his face as he sweated heavily, with breath running wild.

His bright green eyes stare in agony as moisture covered his glasses.

A few minutes passed with him staying on his knees, trying to regain composure, while the river slowly --and steadily-- claimed ownership of the dead body in front of him. Once his hands and feet steadied a bit, he made an attempt to get up. Dragging his feet towards the wall, where he immediately threw up the contents of his stomach.

Tom was right. He had never done anything like this before.

[ _ break _ ]

As soon as the party is over, what was left behind is only hard work.

The last guest had left her home-slash-restaurant and Ginny found herself in the kitchen, shoving paper plates into a large black plastic bag. She was helped by George, who was scraping off leftovers from their mother’s Pyrex oven dishes. Outside of the kitchen, she could hear someone using a vacuum cleaner, while Fred occasionally walked in to put more dishes on the sink.

Percy had insisted that they clear away all the mess tonight, so that everyone can have a good night sleep and start afresh in the morning.

“I’m going to throw this away,” she announced. George responded by making unclear mumblings.

The girl then dragged the plastic bag through the back door, and for the first time that night, was finally able to be by herself.

In less than an hour ago, colours had finally returned to her life. The grey, dingy walls of the juvenile centre was finally replaced with the soft blue of Auntie Molly’s Fish and Chips; the lazy, unmotivated footsteps of juveniles are finally being replaced with laughter of families and friends again.

It was like having the second chance to breathe again after being declared brain dead. And it felt so good that she just had to stop in her track, staring at the family’s bare backyard, with the large plastic bag still in her hand.

As she closed her eyes to take a deep, peaceful breathe, she could not help noticing a pang of loneliness inside her chest.

_ He’s not here. _

Trying to shake off the feeling, she shook her head real hard.

“Can’t have everything in life, Ginevra,” the girl talked to herself. 

She continued her walk to a group of large dustbins at the end of the backyard, opening its lid and slamming the plastic bag inside. “You can always call him in the morning. Or even better: He should’ve called you.”

The plastic bag turned out to be too big for the dustbin, forcing her to use all of her energy to shove it in. “Just … Get in, will you … Urgh …”

“Hey.”

The plastic bag was still fighting her back, but Ginny chose to completely ignored it. The girl immediately turned herself around, and her jaw dropped when the figure that she had been waiting for was standing in front of her.

Harry just came out of the door to the kitchen. His hair was even messier than usual and his rucksack was dangling weakly on his shoulder. There were muddy stains on his jeans, particularly around the knees. He looked so exhausted he might as well had walked all the way from Scotland, but his smile grew when Ginny ran into his direction.

“You …!” Ginny shouted. “You! I thought you’re not coming!”

Ignoring his warnings about having not taken any shower, the girl jumped into his hug.

“Yeah, I’m so sorry … Something happened, and it took longer than expected …”

“What’s the matter? Why is your jeans dirty like that? And, ugh …”

“Told you I haven’t showered. Well, that’s the thing … My bike crashed. I fell into this pool and now it had to be …”

His words failed when he noticed that the girl had slumped on his chest, her shoulder shaking with her tears. “Hey, why are you crying?”

“I thought you’re not coming!”

“What are you talking about? I’m here,” Harry said. He put his hands around Ginny’s cheeks, trying to keep eye contact with her. “I know I’m late, but I’m here.”

She nodded wildly. “I thought I was being a brat.”

“Well, you’re definitely a cry baby now.”

Ginny cleared her nose with her sleeve. “No, I mean … I’m out of the place. I can meet everyone again … But I can’t deny it. I’d really like to have you around.”

Harry smiled. He stroke the young girl’s hair, helping her to get it off her eyes. “You’re free now. We have all the time in the world.”

“Yes. Yes, we are. Just us!”

The two took their hug even deeper, letting gratitude surround themselves like a warm blanket.

Ginny Weasley had suffered greatly in the past months. She had been hurt, violated. Lied to. She had fallen to a bottomless pit, but thanks to her perseverance, she managed to find a way back into the light.

Most importantly, she was never alone. She got to share the light with the people she cared about --and those who genuinely cared for her.

Harry also had his own reason to be grateful.

He knew for certain that Tom Riddle would never be able to harm her again.

  



	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10 years later.

**Epilogue**

More than half of the dimly lit hotel ballroom was filled with small round tables covered in white cloth, completed with a table number in the middle. Each of them had five to six ladies and gentlemen in their best formal outfit having dinner on it, attended by waiters in black tie and suit, who were on standby to refill a guest’s glass of water whenever it went empty. Enjoying a three-course meal, these people are chatting in whispers and trying their best to prevent their knives and forks from clanking on the plates.

At the far end of the room, a large stage was set. There was almost nothing else on it but a large screen and a simple podium, where a gentleman was reading the nominees for the next category.

“And the winner for the special prize for investigative journalism is … Ms. Ginevra Molly Weasley!”

The stage lighting played around before finally stopping at one of the roundtables, putting the aforementioned lady ---who was in the midst of putting a piece of duck confit into her mouth-- under the spotlight. Those who sat around her were congratulating and tapping her shoulders, but she seemed oblivious to what was going on.

_ Go on stage. _

_ Eh? Why? _

_ You just won! _

_ WHAT. NO. _

Still trying to chew her meal, she immediately got up and walked towards the stage’s direction.  _ Oh-my-God-oh-my-God _ . The organising committee directed her to a small set of stairs; luckily she was able to get on stage without any incident, like tripping over a cable or spitting out her meal.

Once she got to the podium to receive her trophy, it could be seen that she was wearing a grey-silver cocktail dress with matching black pumps. Her sleek, long ginger hair was parted sideways; a far cry from the style that she used to rock in her teenage days.

But when she stood there to face the audience, that feeling of being stunned --combined with a tingling sensation that she did not actually deserve this-- reminded her that deep inside, she was still the same young girl as 10 years before.

It had been a decade since Ginny was declared not guilty and released from the juvenile detention centre. On her first morning at home, the first thing that she did was to clear her digital footprint. She deleted her account at the online writing platform, blocked any of that person’s contact from her messenger apps, and even deleted any pictures or emails that she had from him. The flowers that he gave during their trip to the theatre --she had been keeping its drying petals inside her diary, but that day they were being swept off her life within just one second. 

To protect herself even further, the Weasley girl eventually deleted any social media account that she owned, with a new determination to use the internet solely to browse around and chat with people she knew in real life. Or perhaps book rides from Uber.

She dedicated her waking hours to catch up --with studies, with her social life. In addition to putting in extra hour for her schoolwork, she also returned to her beloved lacrosse team, training even harder to win every tournament in the pipeline.

The other thing that did not change was her love of writing. Now that she no longer spent too much time online, Ginny opted to join the school’s newspaper club to get her hands into different types of writings. Previously, she could only write about stuff that came out of her imagination. But the club had given her the opportunity to write about the world. She learned to overcome her shyness by reaching out to people, listening to their stories, asking them the right questions, and producing an accountable piece of writing.

At the final year of high school, her English teacher Mr. Lupin secretly submitted a piece of article that she had written into a national scale competition, resulting in her coming out as third prize winner. This pleasant surprise convinced her --and her mother-- that she had indeed chosen the right path to her future.

Once high school was over with, Ginny left London to study English at a leading university in Newcastle. For the girl, this was the very first time she would ever leave home and live without her extensive family. Like many people of her age, it was an important milestone, which she would forever remember as the best days of her life.

It did not mean that Tom Riddle had completely disappeared from her life, though.

He occasionally showed up in her nightmares, where she would find herself being trapped inside a lift. The door was closing, but she was not able to reach it in time, for two hands would grab her from behind, before pulling and slamming her into the wall. Preventing her from leaving the lift, ever.

She would woke up with his velvety voice still ringing in her ear:  _ Ginny the Catlady … _

Even when she was awake, being in a lift sometimes made her feel strangely nervous.

Then there was also a time when her class went on a writing retreat to a big house in the countryside, during the first year of university. When they arrived at the location, Ginny got a rather serious panic attack. She was so close to fainting that she had to spend the first day of retreat being bedridden.

All this was simply because the house happened to be located at the border of a forest, which reminded her too much of the location where they found Kingsley Shacklebolt’s body.

His shadows also appeared when she turned 18 and intended to sleep with Harry for the first time. Laying down on a bed in a man’s embrace reminded her too much of that night in Tom’s flat, when she slept soundly on his sofa, with his hand on her waist, his cheek on her hair, and his feet intertwining with hers. As far as she could remember, nothing sexual had ever happened between them. But she found herself confusing between the warmth of Harry’s body --and his.

She was only able to let herself go with Harry when they moved into his godfather’s rickety old jeep --and no laying down for her, please. She could not stand feeling so helpless.

Despite these occasional sightings, generally Ginny considered herself to be fine. Her grades were good; they even allowed her to live abroad in Spain as an exchange student for a semester. She entered a few more writing competitions, and won some of them. Finally, after three solid years as an undergraduate student, and another as a postgraduate, she left university to begin a career as a cub reporter in a leading news portal.

Her ship was sailing smoothly until that one particular day.

She arrived at the office on Monday morning, beaming and saying hello to her colleagues as per usual. As a cub reporter, she was being rotated from one desk to another after every two months. She had been in the sports and business desk before, and this month, she had just started working at the crime desk --which can be quite fun if you can get over the number of times you have to visit the morgue in a month.

The new week began with a major editorial meeting where assignments are being given to the cub reporters by the editors. When Ginny received hers, her first reaction was losing her ability to breath.

To the astonishment of everyone in the meeting room, she used her remaining energy to run off to the restroom, where she locked herself in, sat on top of the toilet, and hugged her legs in horror.

This is the assignment that had been given to her: To write a deep-dive piece about the recent disappearance of six teenagers across London in the past two months. Teenagers go missing all the time, and there seemed to be nothing to connect these teenagers in their background.

Except for one thing. They were all part of an online discussion forum about books.

Like the house in the countryside and her boyfriend’s bed, it reminded her too much of what happened when she was a teenager herself. The idea made her so scared that tears began to flow despite her difficulty to breath; in the midst of this agony, she could only look up to the ceiling and wondered if this physical and mental torture would ever stop.

She could not take this assignment. She never realised this before, but it turned out that her trauma was really deep. The false friendship that Tom had offered her, and the time that she had to spend in detention because of that, have ruined her in ways she could only comprehend that day.

She might looked just fine in her daily life, but once the darkness kicks in, she was a weak, defeated little girl hiding in a public restroom. Too feeble to even stand up and face her day ...

But she was tired of this.

Tired of being this girl.

Tired of having to lose control and fall ill at every thoughts, every memories of him. Upon seeing objects that reminded her of him.

She had embarrassed herself in front of her classmates and lecturers by rolling on the floor of the faculty’s bus when they arrived at the retreat. She had also hurt Harry when she locked herself in his bathroom, crying in nothing but her panties, hating herself for thinking of Tom when her boyfriend was on top of her.

She was tired of unpleasant surprises.

So she decided that she is going to end it. And she will do it by taking the assignment.

[ _ break _ ]

On Monday night, Harry --who followed his parents’ footsteps of working in an international aid agency-- happened to be away for a conference in Rome, leaving the flat to Ginny herself.

She locked the doors and windows just in case, then made herself a cup of hot chocolate to tone the nerves down. After 20 minutes, she ran out of things to clean or fix, so she decided to take out her laptop and begin her investigation.

With a fake identity, she entered the platform and searched for a subcategory that her editor had pointed out for her. The sub was run by an admin named PinkLady, who had an image of a fluffy kitten as her avatar. It was filled with threads about a book title, where the admin would encourage members to give away their thoughts about the book. Then the members would state their opinion, debate about this and that, and so on.

At a glance, you would not find anything suspicious in it. It really was just another online book club, really. But Ginny refused to believe that, and decided to read the comments carefully, one-by-one.

That was when she noticed something.

Amidst discussion about themes and character development, occasionally there would be members who would post something about how the book has touched them deeply. They would talk about how the book helped with their loneliness, their self-proclaimed mental illnesses. Some of them would even give example of things that had happened in their personal life. And these were the comments that PinkLady will respond wholeheartedly.

She would give them words of encouragement, and even shared her personal experiences as well. Their conversation would be full of virtual tears and hugs --and there were so many of them that it gave Ginny the impression that this was the kind of atmosphere that PinkLady aimed to create for her sub.

Ginny used the moment to take a break and refill her cup of chocolate. She still could not find anything that might explain the teenagers’ disappearance, but she was definitely intrigued by the conversation that went on between PinkLady and the members.

It reminded her --and she definitely felt nauseous when she think of this-- of the time when she and Tom began their so-called friendship.

She would talk to him about her issues, her biggest fears and concerns --and he would play the role of a friendly big brother for her. The similar style is currently being used by PinkLady, and Ginny wondered if that was the extend of their similarity. Could she possibly be ... No. No, that would be too far-fetched. At least for the time being.

So she picked a book title and left a comment. And it did not take long for PinkLady to reply hers. Within a week, Ginny and PinkLady already began exchanging private messages. In which PinkLady asked her to join a private meeting for members at her home, just outside of London.

Ginny had found her lead.

[ _ break _ ]

The next day Ginny found herself sitting in a very pink living room in a small house in a suburban area. There was almost no other decoration in that room but photos of kittens --even for a person who used to call herself Ginny the Catlady, the house owner’s obsession with cats was mind-boggling. On the puffy purple sofa --perhaps the only object in the room that was not pink-- Ginny sat with two other girls, both of them are at least ten years younger than her.

While she sat there, she was extra careful not to reveal the tape recorder hidden beneath her jumper. She had also been introducing herself as Jennifer instead of Ginevra --with her surname being Weasel. Sorry, Dad. 

Dolores, the true identity of PinkLady, was giving a heartfelt speech about the meaning of female friendship. Ginny found herself itching to roll her eyes at the content, but one of the teenagers seem to be in happy tears already, while the other is nodding passionately.

While Dolores continued to talk, Ginny observed her surroundings. Pretending to sip her cup of tea, she took a mental note about the rooms inside the house. There were the living room, the kitchen and dining room, the hallway, and Dolores’s bedroom in the back … But the house seemed to be bigger than this from the outside.

She needed to confirm her suspicion, so she asked Dolores where the bathroom was.

Once she thought she had spent enough time inside the bathroom, Ginny sneaked out to check out the hallway and the kitchen with her camera ready.

Exactly as she had suspected, the girl found a door hidden behind a tapestry on a wall in the hallway. Upon making sure that Dolores would be too occupied to notice, she went behind the door and found herself being led to a room.

Where the six missing teenagers were working in what seemed to be a small, home-based illicit drug factory.

The story broke the nation.

By writing a comprehensive report about her discovery of Dolores’s secret room, Ginny was able to help the police uncover a drug ring that had been using teenagers as pawn in their manufacture and trade. 

These teenagers have been lured in through the internet by adults pretending to be a friendly voice in the midst of their loneliness. But now that the group have been busted, they were finally able to come home. The way Ginny herself was able to years ago.

By overcoming her own trauma, she had unexpectedly saved others, who were in a situation that was very much like her own.

Even as she received her trophy and walked down from the stage to return to her table, the Weasley girl wondered if it was possible for her, the little girl from the fish-and-chips shop, to create such a great impact in other people’s life.

But when she saw Harry standing up to greet her, looking proud as he was 10 years ago in the courtroom, Ginny finally understood that such things are possible.

[ _ break _ ]

“I’M A WINNER! WOO-HOO!”

Ginny was sitting on the passenger side of what used to be Sirius’s rickety old jeep. Her window was wide open and she was literally yelling at every pedestrian, waving her new trophy proudly at them. It seems like the young journalist had just a little too much champagne at the awarding ceremony.

“Honey, careful. We don’t want the Sea World incident to happen again,” warned Harry, trying to juggle between focussing on the road and making sure his girlfriend is not doing anything worse.

“Oh. You’re right.” She immediately closed the window when memories of her phone dropping into a pool of starfish came back to mind. “Right. I'm an idiot. Gotta be careful.”

Now that the award ceremony was done, the couple was on their way to Auntie Molly’s Fish and Chips for a little celebration dinner with the Weasleys. They had not told them about Ginny winning a special prize, but Ron --now the proud manager of the shop-- had closed in early to prepare something special for his sister.

A message came in to Ginny’s smartphone. “Oh. It’s Hermione. She has landed and is on the way to the shop.”

The girl had been doing a junior clerkship at the International Criminal Court in The Hague, and only return to London on special occasion like this. 

“Okay, cool.”

Reading the messages on her phone had a strangely sobering effect on Ginny. The next minutes, the girl would remain quiet, staring at the glass-like trophy on her lap that bears her name.

“What’s the matter?” Harry asked, noticing the change.

“Oh, no … It’s just that … I can’t believe this,” Ginny answered. “I mean, when I first got the assignment, I thought I would not be strong enough to do it.”

“But … you’ve stopped having the nightmares, right?”

“Yeah, exactly! It’s really weird. It just stopped. No more nightmares. No more … Panic attacks.”

The night the article got published, Ginny had a dream where she was thirteen again --and was waltzing in the park with Tom. Everything was exactly like it was that night; they wore the exact same clothes and were laughing about the exact same thing. She was watching him in awe --her feelings were a combination between a pleasant surprise, and a strange yearning for the good old days.

The only difference in this dream was that, instead of having him decide when to stop, Ginny actually took the initiative.  _ I have to go, Tom _ . She curtseyed, turned around, and ran as far as she could from him.

After a moment, she turned back to find him still standing on the same spot, his expression still as serious as he often allowed himself to be seen.

Ginny liked to believe that for a very brief moment, he had given her a little smile.

But she was unable to confirm that as she was immediately awaken. And she never, ever had any dreams of him again. Nightmare or otherwise. “I’ve felt really peaceful since then. Maybe I’ve healed.”

The jeep stopped at a traffic jam, and Harry took the opportunity to get hold of her hand. “That’s great.”

The girl replied with a smile. Soon the jeep had to start moving again. Letting go of his girlfriend’s hand, Harry returned his focus on the road ahead of him.

He never told Ginny that when he drove at night like this, instead of his own face, the reflection that stared back at him on the car’s window is often of a handsome man with dark, wavy hair. Wearing what seemed to be the top of a business suit.

The shadow had a victorious grin on his face, and would even muttered a few words to Harry sometimes. Words that only the two of them would ever heard and understood. Both 10 years ago and today.

But Ginny did not need to know about this.

She was too precious.

 

**END.**


End file.
